Promises in the Dark
by Aelfgiva
Summary: Spencer Reid suspects that his lover Ethan has a new love interest, and Reid is willing to fight for him. Meanwhile, an old familiar face comes back into his life. Sequel to Yellow Noise. Rated M for adult themes, language, sexual situations.
1. Chapter 1

_**Dedicated with much affection to Reidemption. **_

_"Just when you think you've got it down,_

_Your heart securely tied and bound,_

_Your love in pieces on the ground, _

_They whisper promises in the dark."_

_~ Pat Benatar~  
><em>

_Chapter One_

"Senora, go inside please . . . por favor."

The rain is pounding down on them now, aggressive. She ignores the words, and remains on the wet ground beside the large body of her friend. "No." His body is still warm, and as long as it is, she can imagine that he hasn't quite left them yet.

The pit had been dug early in the late afternoon by a backhoe, a solemn preparation as if for a ceremony. The dirt piled up beside it is soaked now and muddy torrents washed down and around the body of the horse. Esteban Munoz stands in the pouring rain beside the veterinarian with this hat in his hands, head hung, and searches his mind for the words that would make her go inside the house now, so that they can push the carcass into the pit with the backhoe. He doesn't want her to see that.

Dr. Brad Ellington places medical equipment back into the metal box and snaps it closed. He stands and watches the flashing lights of the police vehicles in the distance, by the barn. _Why did this all have to happen tonight? _ "They'll be wanting to talk to you, I suppose, E."

"Si. Yes they will. All of us."

"Dammit."

He watches the woman at his feet for a few minutes, giving her time. He knows that it can't be easy, losing a favorite horse. But it happens all the time in his line of work – he is too often called out late at night to end suffering. This one needed to be put down, and she will have to deal with it. Then he reaches for her arm, pulling her to her feet. "Come on now, Honey. He's gone."

He nods a go-ahead to Munoz and leads her back toward the house, holding her arm firmly.

~~/~~

Reid was content to sit in the back of the SUV and study the files of the other cases that had popped up in Virginia during the past weeks that might be related to this one. It was exactly what he needed – a good case to chew on, something to occupy his mind, a puzzle to solve. The last several days spent in the bull pen doing paperwork, with Morgan sitting there trying to make small talk with him, was driving him crazy. It infuriated him – Morgan pretending as if everything was just fine, just as it had always been. It wasn't, he knew it and Morgan knew it.

He hadn't had the nerve to ask any questions. Not of Morgan, and not of Reid's lover, Ethan. After all, he had set the whole thing up this way. He had told Ethan from the beginning – from their first sexual encounter – that for himself it was temporary. That he couldn't feel for a man – for Ethan – what he had felt for a woman. He had even, in a particularly idiotic moment of overwhelming gratitude and insane generosity, hinted to Ethan that someday Ethan would find someone else. Someone who could really love him fully. Another man.

What he didn't count on is how it would feel when it began to happen. Reid had seen no evidence of it, but he could feel it. The last time he had visited New Orleans, Ethan had been changed. Something was missing in his eyes, something lacking in his kiss. Reid had been perturbed when he first felt Ethan distancing himself. It had been at the airport, when Ethan had fetched Reid. He had been late, while Reid had been waiting on pins and needles, anxious to see his friend again, anxious to wrap his arms around him. Reid had called him and gotten only his voicemail. He had contemplated taking a cab, but didn't because he had expected Ethan to run up to him, a breathless apology on his lips. Instead, when Ethan finally appeared he had seemed nonchalant, "Oh, am I late? Sorry. Got distracted I guess."

Later when they had been alone, Ethan was cool. Reid was desperate to get him into bed, to feel his skin hot and yielding in his arms and hands, under his mouth. And Ethan yielded, but without matching his passion. Without any passion, truth be told.

"Are you okay? You seem. . . kind of far away."

"Oh, I do? Yeah, fine. Just tired."

It wasn't that Reid didn't expect things to change someday, at least on an intellectual level. After all the relationship had formed and deepened because of Reid's crisis: he had fallen into drug addiction after the death of his fiancé, and Ethan had been the hand that had saved him from drowning. Along with that hand had come the physical human contact for which Reid had been desparate, and the deep emotional connection that had quite literally saved his life. The love he had known from Ethan had made him wake up from the nightmare, to want to find himself again.

But his heart understanding the change was another question altogether. Although he had willingly become Ethan's lover and had accepted the affection with true gratitude, he had always known that he couldn't return it with the same feeling as Ethan had in giving it. Ethan loved him. He knew it, and over many months he had become comfortable with it and accustomed to it. Now he found himself angry over the thought that any other man would lure Ethan away from him. He was torn between giving Ethan time to come around, and wanting to confront him – to rage and demand a name. But he was afraid to. He was afraid that doing so would give Ethan the chance to speak it aloud – that yes, there was someone else and that yes, the relationship that he and Reid shared would have to end. Reid wasn't ready to hear it. Not yet.

And so he had resolved to wait, and to fight. Morgan, noticing Reid's distraction at work, had asked about it. Morgan was the only person with whom Reid could talk about Ethan – one of the few who really knew about his relationship with Ethan and how deep it was. He had been there at its beginning, and understood how and why it began - how Reid had come to take a man as a lover.

"How much experience do you actually have with long-term relationships, Morgan?" Reid asked, cocking his head and smirking.

"Something up with Ethan?" Morgan returned, smiling and ignoring the bait.

Reid told him about his suspicions, interjecting every other sentence that they were probably baseless, but glad to be able to share them with someone. They had weighed heavily on his since he had returned from New Orleans.

"So how often do you see each other – you've been there what, four times in as many months? Ethan up here twice?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Reid, that isn't taking care of a _relationship_. That's a little fun once in a while."

Reid had taken slight offense at Morgan's downplaying the relationship. He of all people knew full well that it was a serious one, and he of all people knew what Ethan had done to pull Reid back from the brink of his own destruction.

"What would you have me do, Morgan? I work _here_. Ethan works there."

"Why didn't you ask him to move up here?"

"I don't know if he would have. What are you getting at?"

"Nothing. I just think maybe Ethan needs more commitment."

"We had . . . we have a commitment Morgan. It is a long distance relationship, but it was committed."

Morgan looked up from his files, "Really? You ever say that out loud?"

"No. We didn't really need to."

"Oh, okay, " Morgan chuckled.

"What?"

"Nothing, Pretty Boy. Nothing."

"I don't know why I'm talking to you anyway. How would you know what Ethan _needs_? It isn't like you can bring any experience to the conversation," Reid slid his chair back and stood, "I'm getting coffee."

Morgan shrugged. He was accustomed to Reid's occasional testiness. But this time was different. And the words were out before he could think it through. "I might know more than you think, Reid."

"What? What do you mean?" Reid stopped, looking down at Morgan.

Morgan stared at the file, pretending to study it, his heart pounding.

Reid was suddenly aware that he was holding his breath, and that the hair on the back of his neck was rising. _Morgan knows something and kept it from me_. He turned on his heel and walked away.

~~/~~

Special Agent Hotchner stepped out of the SUV and put a hat on his head to shield it from the rain, frowning up at the night sky. He felt the beginning of a headache nagging between his eyes. The ride with Reid and Morgan was enough to give anyone a headache. The two of them had hardly spoken to one another, and the tension in the car had weighed on Hotch like a thundercloud all the way from Quantico. Over an hour and a half of fun and joy. Now, he was looking forward to getting away from it and into the case.

"Agent Hotchner?" a tall man extended a hand as he crossed the farmyard. "I'm Detective Ferris. Sorry to get you all out here in this weather."

"We've seen worse," replied Hotch without smiling, shaking his hand. " This is Special Agent Morgan . . . Dr. Reid, " he said and nodded toward his colleagues, 'Where were they found?"

"Manure pile, back of the barn." Ferris tipped his chin to where a large tent had been erected. "A man and a woman. Both worked here at the farm. Siblings, not from around here."

The group trudged through the mud toward the site. "Have you spoken to the owner?" asked Hotch.

"Not yet . . . they were out burying a horse. She'll be down in a bit."

Inside the tent a forensics team worked to uncover the bodies within the man-high mound of manure. It was a slow procedure, each move calculated to do the least damage to the crime scene. Morgan stood with his nose tucked into the arm of his coat. "What is this going to do to forensic evidence?" he asked no one in particular.

"Nothing good . . . " answered Reid as he squatted to get a closer look at the arm and leg protruding from the pile. "How old were the victims?"

"Nineteen and twenty-three. Poor kids."

"You said on the phone that you think this may be related to the murder in Gordonsville?" asked Hotch.

"That one was killed in town, yes. And another one in Palmyra. All of them young. All of them from the Richmond area. All within two weeks."

"I'm going to look around in the barn," said Reid.

"Forensics has finished in there. You'll have the run of the place."

~~/~~

She had walked into the barn without being noticed, in the confusion of the crime scene. They wanted to talk to her, but they could wait. She'd had a rotten day – she'd lost a good friend and two of her best hands were buried in the manure pile. They could wait a few minutes. She left the hood of her barn jacket up and went to work. She wanted Arturo's stall clean. She wanted every sign of him gone, so that she wouldn't be greeted with it in the morning. She had raked out the soiled hay and carted it outside, removed his water pail and food bucket. She screwed the hose onto the faucet beside the stall and fired the driving burst of water onto the floor, washing away the last part of him that had been there only that morning. She watched the dirty water drain into the gutters along the sides of the stall.

She knew that losing a horse was part of the business. But this one . . . this one had been special. He had come to her shortly after she began this new life. Shortly after she bought the farm. He was the first one she had formed a bond with, and it had been a strong one. Her bonds with horses and dogs were the mainstay of her existence now. She didn't bond with many people. Too much work. Besides, horses had more integrity.

Turo had integrity to spare. He had always carried himself with a rare nobility - rare even for a Paso Fino - holding himself above the fray, above the trivialities of everyday human business. He was from something ethereal, somewhere more dignified than this life. It wouldn't hurt her half so much if he had been older. But he had been young, only eight years old. He should have had another ten. And he had not died in any dignified way, he had died slowly – wasting away, his coat growing duller and falling out, his once long silken mane tangling until she had trimmed it short – an insult to his breed. She had taken him outside to walk for long walks through the woods, along the roads, anything to get his body working and make his mind grab onto something interesting. When his appetite waned she would call Brad and demand he give him an appetite stimulant. She fed him with her hands, several times a day. She willed him to recover as she did it. She spoke to him about willpower, miracles, even God. In the end, it wasn't enough: his weight loss was always a step ahead of her best efforts. And then an expression had come into his eyes that hadn't been there before, in all the weeks of illness: he was asking her to let him go. It was an expression that was beyond weary, without any more fight. He was asking her to stop fighting.

That morning she hadn't been surprised when Brad told her that he had lost more weight. His organs were beginning to fail. It was inevitable now that the end would come whether she fought it or not. She had given her barn hands instructions to dig the pit, hardly believing her own voice. That was at 4:45 pm, and now here she was only six hours later. But it seemed like days ago.

She was unscrewing the hose again and winding it up, when she noticed a young man walk into the barn on the other end. He dodged to the side suddenly as a horse shoved its head over the gate of its stall and snorted loudly at him. She smirked – _city boys_ - and went back to her work. She walked into the feed room and rinsed out the pail and bucket with bleach, and set them out to dry for the next horse's use. She found the vitamins that were his, five bottles of pills and liquids, and she tore from the fronts of the bottles the pieces of tape with his name. After she had crossed his name off the feed schedule with a thick black marker, she took a last look around the feed room before shutting off the light and stepping out of the door.

She nearly bumped into him. "Uh Ma'am? Excuse me, are you the owner?" _That voice. My God, it couldn't be._

"Reid?" She moved her hood away from her face and blinked up at him. He was taller than she remembered. The large, deep eyes probed her own as they always had.

"_Elle_?" He stood staring at her with his mouth agape.

She moved past him and started toward the barn office. She tossed over her shoulder, "You gonna stand there with your mouth hanging open, or help me make coffee?"


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

"Elle, you OWN this place?" Reid asked as he poured sugar into a cup of coffee.

"Yep. I do," she answered, and settled into a chair in the barn's office. She blew softly on her coffee and looked Reid up and down as he sat on the edge of the desk nervously. He had changed quite a bit – but the essence was still there: the same gangly gracefulness. The same timidity. The same impenetrable shell of intellect that he had always hid behind. The same lock of silky hair falling into his eyes, to be tucked behind an ear. The large, deep, penetrating eyes that didn't linger on your own but swooped down and away. But then . . . something was different. Maybe some of the innocence was gone. The old playfulness wasn't there now. Maybe a little more man in the boy.

"I heard you had some rough cases after I left, " she prompted. He glanced at her and then down at his coffee again, stirring more than it needed.

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees and sipped her coffee, "I heard you were kidnapped. Tortured. That true?" A smirk played at the corner of her mouth, as if torture were a joke.

Reid answered with precise, measured words, as if he were describing a crime that happened to someone else. "I was kidnapped, taken to another county, tied up, beaten, shot up with drugs, and subjected to Russian Roulette. It was a good time," he looked up with the old smirk and smile.

"I'm sorry."

"Well, yeah, I guess you can relate."

Elle stood and walked to the office window, "I was shot, Reid. It was quick. I didn't have to go through anything else."

"You still. . . trying to downplay what happened?" His voice came softly, the way it had years ago when he had come to her hotel room to beg her to talk to him about the shooting. No one had asked for details but Reid. So she had told him in gory detail how the shooter had reached into her wound to collect blood in order to write on the wall. She had watched him squirm as she compared that act to a rape. She had enjoyed watching him squirm. She had been so angry at all of it and Reid in all his gentel naivete was a ready target then.

"I thought we were talking about you." She pretended to look out at the long center aisle of the barn, checking for the inevitable detectives who would want to question her tonight.

"I uh. . . well, that's about it. Yeah, it was bad. It's okay now."

She turned to face him, "Just like that. It's okay now." For her it hadn't been so easy to come back.

He shifted his behind on the desk. "No, not just like that. I was . . . it took a while. I got addicted to the drugs. Twice."

Elle stared at him as he stroked the cup, watched the coffee swirl as he shook it slowly. Who was he now then? He had been the youngest, the most untouched, untainted. He had tried to be her friend. In truth he had often made her laugh, even after the shooting when few things did. She remembered that often as the team entered a dangerous location he would place himself beside her, both with their guns drawn, minds flying, hearts pounding. They would exchange a knowing glance, each reassured by the other's presence. She had sensed that he felt some affinity with her, although she never quite understood why. He was just a kid and kind of a geek.

Now, he was in her office, after six years. He was the same, but older. His eyes were still deep but not soft anymore. He didn't tremble when she baited him. Now he calmly ignored the bait. As if he were weary. She found herself feeling sad, that Spencer Reid would be weary with life, with the job.

"I bought it after I left the Bureau," she offered. "I had an inheritance. Long story. I spent it all on this. I board horses for rich people. So I can pay for my own." She laughed.

"Are you . . . are you happy?" He looked up at her. "You look different."

"Different?" the old look of defensiveness crept into her eyes. "What do you mean?"

Reid opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by voices approaching the office. "Hotch," smiled Elle as she extended her hand to her old boss. "How are you? Dr. Reid, this is Dr. Brad Ellington, our local horse vet."

"Large Animal Vet, Elle," corrected Ellington and nodded to Reid. "You through with questioning?" He put an arm across Elle's shoulders. Elle looked down at her coffee. Something reticent in her manner struck Reid as uncharacteristic and it bothered him, and instinct told him to choose his words carefully.

"Uh . . . well we hadn't really begun . . ."

"Reid and Elle are old friends, I'm sure they had catching up to do," interjected Hotch. "Reid, why don't you help Morgan finish up talking to the staff. I'll talk to Elle."

"Sure," Reid smiled slightly at Elle as he rose and left the office. Elle was surprised that she suddenly felt alone as he left.

~~/~~

Reid was grateful that the farmhouse was so big. Elle had offered to let the team stay there – he and Morgan and Hotch – so that they wouldn't have to drive back to Quantico at such a late hour. It looked as if they'd be staying for a day or two anyway. And he didn't want to share a hotel room with Morgan.

Ethan had been in his thoughts continuously. The more he thought about Ethan's coolness during Reid's visit to New Orleans, the more his worry grew. He found himself replaying scenes in his mind of their intimate times together during the past months, searching for some clue as to when Ethan's feelings could have begun to change. These worry sessions would always end in the same place – with the thought that Ethan had talked to Morgan recently. Why wouldn't Morgan just tell him that? Why the secrecy?

And so at 2:30 in the morning, shortly after they had all been shown their rooms, he found himself knocking on Morgan's bedroom door. "Reid." It was a statement, devoid of surprise. Morgan stepped aside to let Reid in.

Reid stood nervously and crossed his arms. "What do you know?"

"Excuse me?"

"You said you know more than I think about what is wrong with Ethan. What do you know?"

Morgan started to answer, but Reid continued, "And why would he talk to YOU. Why wouldn't he just tell me what is wrong?"

"Reid, look," Morgan gestured apologetically with his hands, "I didn't mean to freak you out. Ethan called me a few days ago."

Reid shifted his stance, stared hard at Morgan, "Why would he do that?"

"Because maybe he feels he can't talk to you . . . yet." Morgan continued quickly before Reid could speak, "You know, when you were in J.J.'s house, and when you were at your worst, we got to know each other a little. I think he feels safe talking to me."

"Safer than he feels talking to me."

Morgan sat on the side of the bed. "Yeah. Maybe."

"That's crazy, Morgan. You don't know what Ethan and I talk about. You don't know how close we . . . have become."

"I know I don't, Kid . . . "

"Then don't interfere!" Reid strode to the door and left.

Morgan sat on the edge of the bed, his stomach sick. He understood how it must have looked like interference to Reid. He asked himself if he himself had purposely planted a seed of doubt in Reid's mind in order to anger him. After all, he didn't have to even tell Reid about the phone call from Ethan. Why had he done that? Morgan opened the door and started down the hall to Reid's room. He needed to apologize.

He paused before Reid's door and raised his hand to knock, but a thought stopped him: Ethan had been so confused, in need of a friend. And there was something in the fact that Ethan had called him that moved Morgan. The idea that Ethan would seek out his friendship now. It was a fact that they had bonded somehow during Reid's troubles, and so it was natural that Ethan would call. Wasn't it? But worse, Morgan felt he had betrayed Ethan. Surely Ethan had not expected him to tell Reid. Although there was no request for confidence, it had been implied. Now, Morgan felt he needed to apologize for any damage done and warn Ethan.

He turned to walk back down the hall to his own room. As he took his cell phone from his trouser pocket and pressed Ethan's number, he found himself anticipating a second conversation with the man he had grown to like.

~~/~~

Reid crept quietly down the old staircase, and padded through the parlor to the kitchen. A glass of milk might calm him and allow him at least a few hours' sleep. He knew that he and Morgan couldn't go on as they were, antagonizing one another. He was baffled by Morgan's behavior. Why Morgan had ever thought it would be all right to talk to Ethan behind his back and then keep it from him. But now, he had made it clear to Morgan that he didn't like it. Maybe that would be the last time, it was a one-time bad judgment call on Morgan's part, and now he would stay out of it.

Suddenly it occurred to Reid that in his anger he hadn't even found out what Ethan had confided to Morgan. What was it Morgan had gone on about when they had talked back in Quantico? Something about Ethan needing commitment. But Ethan had commitment and he knew it. Every time they were together, every time Reid made love to him, knowing that it wasn't part of his sexual make-up – wasn't that act a special sort of commitment? That Reid had chosen to be Ethan's lover, didn't that say something?

"Hey, you can't sleep?" Elle's voice startled him out of his thoughts. She stood in the kitchen doorway, watching him lean into her refrigerator, a bemused smile decorating her pretty face.

"Uh, I'm . . . " Reid stood nervously and brushed hair from his eyes, "I'm actually searching for a glass of milk." He smiled, "I hope that's okay."

He averted his eyes from her hip where her pajamas were slung low to reveal her skin, as she stretched up to take a glass from the cupboard. When she turned and crossed toward him, leaning close to get the milk, he averted his eyes from the tank top stretched across her breasts.

He swallowed hard as she handed the full glass to him. "Thanks."

She poured herself a glass and gestured to a high stool beside the counter, and she climbed upon a second one. "So . . . how is the case going?"

"Uh . . . I don't know yet. We're waiting for some information to come in from another county where the victims come from and for forensics . . . "

"Yeah, I remember all that. Waiting."

He cleared his throat. "I started to ask you tonight in the barn . . . are you happy?"

She sipped her milk slowly and studied his eyes with hers, in the same direct way she always had. Before, and now, he could never figure out whether she intended to learn or to intimidate. Maybe both.

He cleared his throat again, "It's just that you look so . . . you look good. Calm. You must be happy."

"Really. Calm."

"Yeah. Your hair is longer."

She laughed then. "So how have you changed?" Reid noticed that she had avoided his question twice now.

"Me? I don't know. I'm . . . older, " he smiled.

"You don't look older." She immediately regretted saying it when she saw the look in his eyes, "I mean, you're obviously older. You look 18 now, instead of 14." She smiled.

"Oh, thanks," he laughed and finished the milk. He stood, "I guess I better . . . try to sleep. Thanks for the milk." He waved his hand at her, lips pressed into a grin, and walked out. She watched him go, appreciating that she could see the shape of his butt for once now that he was wearing pajama pants. She laughed softly to herself at the thought.

She sat for a few minutes and finished her milk slowly, looking around at the dimly-lit kitchen. She had grown to love the place. It felt like home, more than any place she had been in since an adult. In the night sometimes she heard the distant whinny of a horse, and knew that her decision to leave the BAU had been the right one. But now having them here – some of the old team – made her nostalgic. She envied the sense of adventure they must feel at the new case.

And Reid. Years ago he had been more awkward. Back then, he came to the office in the morning with his hair slicked down like he wasn't sure what to do with it. By afternoon, he would be brushing it out of his eyes every five minutes. His walk had been jerky, betraying his nervousness at every turn. He stammered more than he spoke clearly. And the glasses – something between nauseatingly nerdy and frighteningly chic. She never was sure how much of that was calculated and how much because he just didn't know better. Today he had looked nice – same dress shirt and tie, but bright purple. And his hair soft and falling over his ears. He had looked into her eyes with a little more confidence than the old Reid. She had felt him study her body here in the kitchen and look away quickly. "Our little Reid, a horn dog," she laughed again.

Ten minutes later she saw his light still on under his door as she passed. She knocked softly, "Reid."

He opened the door, a book in his hand. "You okay?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Yeah, I just wondered . . . " She found herself a little nervous and cursed it silently. Why on earth should Reid of all people make her nervous? "Have you ever been on a horse?"

"Me? Uh . . . no. Why would I put myself on top of a 1200 pound animal that has the self-control of a . . . "

"You will tomorrow evening. You have some jeans? I'll lend you some." She turned and left him standing in the doorway, still rubbing his eyes, looking after her in surprise.

~~/~~


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

Morgan watched Reid thumbing through the file and scowling as he thought. "I just don't see what we are missing," he said, mostly to Hotch. "Other than the fact they all worked on horse farms. I mean, there are several common denominators, but they don't seem to fit any real pattern."

"They are all young, between 19 and 25. They are all from Roanoke." Hotch poured himself some coffee and spread his file out over the kitchen table. The three had been at it for hours, trying to put their heads together to find a motive linking the crimes that were scattered over several communities.

"They are NOT all the same sex," offered Morgan. "and there is no evidence of sexual assault. That we know already."

"These deaths were all brutal," said Reid. "Beaten and strangled, not shot. Whoever did this is angry. It's personal."

"They went to different schools, no common high school or college," Morgan said.

"What about clubs, churches, social circles," Elle said as she placed the last of the dinner dishes in the dishwasher. She felt odd standing there not offering anything, and on the other hand she felt odd joining in. Once, she had worked so closely with the three men, bouncing ideas around, theorizing, analyzing. She did it for two years and it was in her blood in the end. Surely she could still have something of value to add now. And Hotch didn't seem to mind her trying. She enjoyed listening to them work now, the raw intellect and years of experience flinging around the room.

"We have Garcia checking that . . . ," said Reid. "But maybe that is the missing piece. There is something that made this unsub track them allover the state. If it's the same unsub."

"We might know that for certain when DNA comes in," said Hotch. "Meanwhile let's do everything we can while we're here to find out more about these kids. Elle, how long did you say they were here?"

"Three weeks. They did miscellaneous work around the barn. Good workers. Sister and brother and they were close. Seemed to be. He was protective. I don't know what else to tell you." She folded a dishtowel and hung it on a hook above the sink.

"I feel like we are missing something in the barn, " said Reid. He stared out the window at the barn thoughtfully.

"You two had it for one day?" Hotch suddenly asked the other agents. "We've done all we can do now. I say we revisit it tomorrow. We'll see what else we can do here in the morning and then go back to Quantico."

"Reid and I have a date, " said Elle. "Come on, Reid."

"It isn't a date," Reid said quickly, looking at Morgan and Hotch. "She's teasing me." Glaring at Elle, he prayed that she wouldn't tell them they were going riding. Truth be told he had hoped all day she would forget about it altogether. He had no desire to be any closer to the back of a horse than need be, and he had been trying throughout day to get a few minutes alone to call Ethan. He couldn't stop hoping that whatever had affected Ethan's mood for the past weeks would have gone, and Ethan would be himself again. The humor would have returned, the veiled sexual innuendos that told Reid he was missed and desired.

Reid would call, and be tender and accepting and coax it out, whatever was troubling his friend. He would be a better confident than Morgan could ever be – he knew Ethan better. He would tell Ethan that their relationship was important to him – something he knew he had hardly ever said, being afraid to make Ethan believe . . .believe what? That it would be permanent? That Reid would feel for him the way he thought that Ethan felt? Why had he withheld so much? He was determined to change it. But now he could see that the call would have to wait.

~~/~~

"She's not going to move, Reid, I have her. Climb down." Elle chuckled, looking up at him from where she stood holding the halter to steady the big mare.

Reid rolled his eyes and hesitated, thinking about which leg to begin with. He scowled.

"Swing your right leg over. Hold onto the saddle and take your left out of the stirrup, and then let yourself down."

"Won't the saddle slip if I do that?"

"Reid!"

"Uh. . . Okay." He sucked on his lower lip and took a breath, then swung his leg over, and slid off the horse.

She laughed as she watched him find his legs again. He bent his knees and stretched. He flexed his hands. Then he combed his hair back with his fingers and looked at her.

"Having a good time?" She cajoled.

"Yes. I'm definitely having a very good time, " he said and forced a tight smile.

She took the reins of both horses and led them to a tree. She threw the reins over a strong limb and tied them. He slid on the river bank, following her down, and nearly ran into her. "Reid, you push me into the water, I'll drown you. Got it?"

"Why are you torturing me?" he sighed as he threw himself down on the grass beside her.

"It's fun." She lay on the grass and looked up at the evening sky. "Just like old times."

Reid sat with his arms around his legs and his chin on his knees. "What do you do now?"

"Train horses. Breed horses. Show horses."

"Peace. . . " he sighed, so softly that Elle almost didn't hear him.

"What?"

"I mean, you're away from the BAU, away from the city. Peace." He raised his chin and looked away from her, across the water. "I had a girlfriend. She always talked about that. Finding peace. She would have understood . . . what you've done."

"A girlfriend? You? And she broke up with you? What'd you do to her, Reid?" Elle laughed.

"She died, Elle."

Elle felt her stomach flip. "God. Reid. I'm sorry."

"I was going to marry her. We had all these plans. . . " his voice trailed away, and she thought she hear a small break in it.

"How long ago?" She asked quietly and sat up beside him.

"Over a year." He winced a bit against his own words as his eyes scanned the horizon. "Seems like longer."

She lay her head on his shoulder. It occurred to her that they had so quickly fallen into step with one another again after all the years. The same easy banter – her insulting him, him whining about it – that they had engaged in then. And they had been friends after all. He'd been like a silly kid brother, but had watched over her too, as much as it had annoyed her at the time. She had, in the months after the shooting, repeatedly tried to jab him, turn him away, force him to stop thinking about her welfare. But no matter how many times she kicked him, he had always watched, always turned up asking if she were alright. Her mind went back to one day when she had argued with Hotch, just before she left. She had stormed out of Hotch's office past Reid, and Reid had reached for her as she went by - reached for her arm. She had shoved his kind gesture away. When she left the BAU for good, she hadn't said good-bye to anyone, not even to Reid.

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything when I left," she said. She raised her head and looked at him, expecting him to tell her all was forgiven. She was surprised to hear the words that came instead.

"No, you didn't say good-bye. Gideon didn't say good-bye. No one does." His words were short, cold and hard. _My God, Reid, where did you go?_ she thought. _Who is this?_

"Reid, I really am sorry. I was dealing with a lot."

"It was a long time ago, Elle." He stood abruptly. "It's getting dark, should we go back?" He offered his hand to pull her up. His face when he looked down at her was expressionless. She noticed that he was just as pretty as he had been six years ago; age and testosterone had not hardened his fine features. She was surprised to feel herself flush as she took his hand.

~~/~~

"I'll help you, I don't mind, really." Reid stood awkwardly watching as she found a hoof pick out in her tool bucket.

"Just try not to get kicked in the head, Reid," Elle said as she stood beside her horse and ran her hand down the shoulder and leg. She pressed her hand to the back of the foreleg and leaned into the horse, who lifted his leg in response. She dug into the soft underside of the hoof with the pick, bringing out the mud and small stones from the ride.

"Do what I do," Elle said and handed him the tool. He nodded and started on the left side of his horse, placing a hand on the mare's shoulder. "Why are we doing this?"

"Gotta keep their hooves clean to keep their feet healthy," she said. "Make sure you get all the debris out."

They worked in silence for a time, Reid carefully watching how Elle prompted her horse to raise each foot and then balanced it on her knee to clean the hoof. He was unaccustomed to being in an environment where he had no knowledge; he realized that he had little knowledge of equine anatomy. Elle had immersed herself in a world far from the one he knew. "Did you ride when you were a child?"

She laughed, "No. I read Black Beauty."

"What made you do this? I mean buy the farm? The horses?"

She looked at him under her horse's belly. "I wanted to."

"Oh."

"What would you do, Reid, if you could do anything?" She smiled.

"Work for the F.B.I."

"I'm serious."

Reid shrugged. "So am I. I almost left it, after the first . . . after the kidnapping and the drugs. But I didn't in the end."

"Why?"

"I'm good at it, I guess. I belong there."

Elle stood and looked at him. "I didn't belong there."

"Elle," he said, studying the hoof he was working on, "they cleared you in the shooting of that unsub. It was justified, right?"

She tossed her pick into the bucket and walked over to stand beside Reid as he worked. "What are you asking?" she said and brushed a hand across her forehead.

"Nothing. I'm not asking. I'm just saying, it was justified. But you left anyway."

"Yeah, well, some people didn't believe it was justified."

"Hotch?"

He stood and looked into her face, and Elle stared back into his. He saw the old spark of fire flick through her eyes. She took the hoof pick from his hand and tossed it in to the bucket. He stepped out of her way as she led the horses away and into their stalls. She walked back to where he stood waiting, lifting her eyes to challenge him as she came. She stopped close to him.

"Hotch didn't believe me. He thought I shot the unsub in cold blood."

Reid looked down away from her eyes, studying his shoes. When he didn't speak for several seconds, she said, "What do you think?"

He didn't look up. He could hear something in her voice that unsettled him terribly. As if she were spoiling for an argument and he wasn't certain what the argument would be about. Elle had always confused and unsettled him, and yet he had always liked her. As a younger man he hadn't realized and he was surprised to realize it now – that there was a fierce femininity in Elle, something passionate and demanding and unquestionably all woman – to which he responded on an almost primal level. He had found her pretty to look at back then, but never entertained the thought that she would ever look twice at him, and so there had been no threat and the friendship was easy. He had pursued Agent "J.J." Jureau once in the beginning, a pretty petite blond who was a classic girl-next-door. He had been bumbling and unsure, and Elle had taken great pleasure in watching him stumble all over himself. She had always teased and flirted with him to make him nervous, but it was a game and he knew it – he was inconsequential to such a woman and took comfort in that fact: the teasing was just Elle's way of communication, of sealing the friendship. Now, standing here, he felt that same challenge from her, the woman's passions tempting him – to argue, to speak the truth, to look back into her beautiful eyes flashing with anger. But back then it had only made him squirm; this time, it terrified him and he wasn't sure why. He leaned back against the cool of the concrete wall and sighed.

"Tell me what you believe," she said coldly, and took a step forward, so that he could feel her breath in the cool of the barn. He smelled the scent of her perfume. He searched his head for words and studied the plait of hair that hung over her shoulder. "Did I kill a man in cold blood, Reid?"

He wasn't the boy now that she had known back then, and now he was weary from the intimidation. He raised his gaze coolly to meet hers. He was surprised to see the excess moisture in her eyes. Just as soon as he saw it, she was suddenly striding out of the barn, leaving him there staring after her.

~~/~~

Back in his room, Reid was determined to shake the bad feeling that lingered from his encounter with Elle in the barn. He found himself confused as to the source of her anger; he knew it had nothing to do with him. Not really. Back when she had left the BAU he had heard some talk between Hotch and Gideon. He knew that they had doubts about what had happened to Elle in the alley with the unsub. Sure, she had been different after she herself had been shot. She was, overnight, someone with no more laughter to give. She was all business, efficient, smart. Where before the cool of her personality had been laced with traces of warmth, she was now icy, impenetrable. He had known she was hurting and couldn't help her – he hadn't the age or experience to have the first idea what to offer as comfort. He'd only had the desire to. And then came the shooting of an unsub – a serial rapist – and the questions surrounding Elle's motivation. But she had been cleared of any wrongdoing and that was years ago. That she was still so angry was surprising. He felt terrible that he had triggered it, because seeing her again after all this time had been so good. Reid was a man who greatly valued friendships in his life because they had been few and hard coming, and he would have liked to regain the one he had with Elle. He had missed her, more than the others had realized.

Now, he sat on the bed with his cell phone and tried to get his mind on more pressing matters. Ethan wasn't answering. He had tried the club's number as a last resort, and they told him Ethan had the night off. Six calls in the space of an hour from Reid to Ethan's cell phone had gone unanswered. He couldn't deny now that it was personal – Ethan could see his calls coming in and chose not to answer.

Reid sniffed and looked across the room into the mirror. He had told Ethan that he couldn't be in love – not with a man. But he had told him that they would be together. He had made his affection and his gratitude clear. He had made it undeniable that the friendship was the most important of his life. What more could he give? Reid knew himself to be someone who was often unsure of himself, but he had a steel core of ethics in which he took some pride. He didn't lie, he didn't cheat, and he had done right by Ethan in every way that he knew how. He didn't deserve this treatment.

He exhaled loudly. His relationship with Ethan was in trouble – there was no doubt now. His friendship with Morgan was strained. His friendship with Elle . . .

Dammit, he could help that at least. He tossed the phone onto the bed and rose. Walking down the hallway, he felt foolish wanting to disturb her in the privacy of her room. But he knew he wouldn't sleep worrying about having upset her, and it occurred to him that perhaps she would be unable to sleep too. He would apologize like the gentleman that he knew himself to be, and that would be the end of it.

He rapped softly on her door. "Elle . . . could we talk? Please?"

She opened the door and stood looking at him, smirking. Her eyes danced, teasing him, daring him to keep talking. She wore the same pajamas she had the night before, her hair was undone. He took a step backward involuntarily.

"I . . . Hi," he waved his hand, "I uh. . . sorry to bother you. I thought I had upset you and . . . "

She took his hand and pulled him into the room. "Shut up, Reid." She closed the door, turned to him and placed her hands on his shirt. She looked him up and down, and cocked her head to the side, "You've changed."

"I have?" he asked, his voice a little too high.

"Um hmm. You have." She pushed him gently back, until he felt the side of the bed behind him. "You're all grown up. Show me what you've learned, " she cooed, and gave him a shove.

~~/~~


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four_

Elle sat in the middle of her bed and drew a pillow tightly to her chest. She could feel her heart pounding so hard that she was amazed that she couldn't hear it. It seemed to shake the pillow. Her embarrassment was overwhelming. What had she been thinking? This was Reid, for God's sakes! For all she knew he was still a virgin, and here she had jumped him.

She willed herself to breathe more slowly. It had been an odd two days, that was it. She wasn't herself. First the murders, right here on her own property, and the police crawling all over the place. Then seeing her old team members. Hotch - now _that_ was uncomfortable. Although he had been only respectful the entire time he had been here, pretending that they hadn't left it on a bad note those years ago. Morgan treated her like he always had, joking, kind, unassuming. And Reid - poor awkward Reid, she must have scared the shit out of him. He had crawled out from under her frantically, as if she were trying to drown him. He had stood and apologized - _apologized_ – and had practically run out of the room.

She felt like an idiot. She felt like that a lot these days. Mainly - and it hurt to admit it to herself - when Brad was around. Here he was courting her to beat the band, she ought to like it. He spoiled her. He took care of her. And . . . he smothered her. She felt like a child when he was protective, as if he were certain she would screw up somehow. What was wrong with her?

She realized her breathing had slowed, and the heat in her face had subsided. She lay down on the bed and laughed to herself. God, she had scared Reid! The look on his pretty face! She would say something to him tomorrow, to set it right.

~~/~~

Reid dialed again, telling himself it would be the last time. It was 2:00 a.m. in New Orleans. He had been calling since 10:00. There was no excuse, no reason why Ethan would not answer, unless he just didn't want to. Reid felt like he was being made a fool of. He didn't know if the sting in his eyes was more because of anger, or fear, or hurt. Whatever it was, Ethan didn't have a right to cause it. Where the hell was he? And who was he with? Reid leaned over and shut off the bedside lamp, and settled back into the pillows.

He'd had a bad night all around. And that thing with Elle - what was that? He had known her to always be someone to use her sexuality to intimidate, to tease, but it had never been serious. It had never crossed his mind those years ago, as close as they were, that she would try to seduce him. But this evening, there had been something in the air between them that wasn't there before. He had felt it - during the ride, even when she had become angry in the barn. Some dynamic had changed.

Laying in the dark now he thought about being alone. The past two years had given him many nights spent in the arms of someone else. Someone who loved him. Aubrey had. And Ethan too. Reid caught his breath, realizing suddenly that he thought of Ethan's feelings for him in past tense: Ethan _had_ loved him. And yet there had been nothing said, no evidence that Ethan's feelings had changed. But even so, Reid was so certain that he had lost something. He felt it keenly. He wondered if the last time he had lain in someone's arms would be the last for a long time to come. The thought shook him.

Five minutes later he found himself quietly opening the door of Elle's room. He stood over her and looked at her for a moment. She had left the lamp on, fallen asleep where he had left her earlier, a pillow clutched in her arms. He had slept just like that, with a pillow clutched to his chest to cancel out loneliness, for most of his life.

She would be cold, without the blanket pulled up. He reached to move her feet gently, putting them under the cover, and brought it up over her, then he gently crawled in beside her.

Suddenly a fist hit him in the cheek. Both hands came at him, nails bared. "Elle! Elle! It's me!" He grabbed her wrists, wrestling them onto the pillow over her head.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she growled.

"Shhhh. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm . . . Shhhhh..." He looked down at her, ashamed of himself. He had forgotten that her shooter had been there when she had awakened. "Elle, I'm so sorry," he whispered, "I didn't think. I'm sorry." He realized that he was still grasping her wrists, and he softened his hold.

She stared up at him, wide-eyed, without speaking. He was aware suddenly of her heavy breathing, the rise and fall of her chest against his. For the first time he noticed how delicate she was, how small her features, even her hands and wrists. Her personality - the essence that was Elle - had always been so large and forceful, that she seemed to somehow match his size. But now, he could see how much smaller she was. He felt her feet against his calves. His hip lay against hers and he could feel his cock awaken and reach for her.

He released her wrists, and she brought her hands into his hair. They regarded each other a long while, each taking in all the lines of the other's face. His gaze fell on her mouth and stayed, and she saw the want in his eyes and so didn't give in to it. She studied his chiseled face, the perfect jawline, the lashes, the high cheekbones, and tortured herself watching his full lips quiver as he watched her. She could smell him, his skin warm and aromatic with cologne and sweat and screaming out to her to touch it. But before she could decide whether to, he bent and touched his mouth to hers, covering hers, softly.

When he pulled back and looked into her eyes, she saw the shyness, and she felt her body shake involuntarily, something starting in her core, shivering in anticipation. He blinked and looked away from her, his eyes sweeping down across her top, imagining, unapologetic. She realized that his hands were on her, running up her back, and down her buttocks. Now his fingers under the waistband in the back of her pajamas. She was stunned, immobile for a time, realizing that Reid was no longer the boy she remembered. Here were the same bashful glances, but from a man she hardly knew. These hands were confident, his lips moving onto hers without hesitation. She shivered again.

"Are you cold?" he whispered against her ear, and kissed it softly. And then she felt his tongue tracing the shape of her earlobe, his mouth on her cheek, her temple, her neck, her throat. She felt for the hem of her top and pulled it up, over her breasts; he helped her pull it over her head and he dropped it over the side of the bed onto the floor. He began to pull off his T-shirt and when he struggled to do it gracefully she started giggling. His head got caught and he laughed. Then grabbing for each other they tugged at pajama bottoms and laughed, until all articles of clothing were kicked to the bottom of the bed somewhere.

"Those will become wrapped around my ankle at some inconvenient point. . . " mused Reid.

"I could use them to strangle you, if I don't like it."

"Like what?" He kissed her chin.

"What you are planning to do to me."

"What makes you think I'm planning to do something? I was just cold and came in to sleep with you. Did you know that when people are caught in the wilderness and wish to survive, they should really strip down and sleep together in the sleeping bag because the mutual body heat raises the temperature inside the bag quickly and . . ."

"Shut up Reid."

"Why are you calling me 'Reid'? We are naked in a bed together. I have a first name, you know. It's Spencer."

"Shut up Reid. Do what you were planning." She devoured his mouth with hers.

~~/~~

When Reid woke in the morning, he was alone in Elle's bed. He kept his eyes closed against the daylight for a few minutes and inhaled the scent of perfume on the pillow. He turned onto his back and rubbed his eyes; he smelled the scent of her on his fingers. He bit his lip and smiled.

He had felt consumed by her. The fierceness he felt even years ago in her conversation, her every movement - had been there last night when she touched him. Elle was a fireball in his hands. She had coaxed him to near insanity by hands that were soft, and a bottomless endless mouth that was sweet, legs that she wrapped tightly around his waist, opening and offering herself to him. Elle was every inch - every raging cell, every moan, every off-color request - the God-proclaimed definition of woman, meant to receive him into her depths. Her body had demanded him to do her bidding at every turn. He had tasted passion in her salty skin, smelled it hot in her perfumed hair, licked it from her mouth, and felt it when he slid his fingers into her wetness. He had cried out in the same ways he had with Ethan - without thinking - and she had laughed softly as she covered his mouth with her hands. She had eaten him and spit him out when she was sated, and long after she fell asleep beside him and even though he had come twice, his cock was throbbing. He had felt as though a hurricane had hit him. He felt himself so overwhelmed by her that if he hadn't known better he'd have thought himself newly deflowered.

Reid threw back the covers, fishing for his pajamas, and winced when he realized he had painful scratches across his back and he had obviously pulled something in his leg.

~~/~~

Morgan awakened and felt the cell phone still in his hand. Damn. He'd have to recharge it while he showered. He had talked to Ethan for hours the night before. He had listened with an honest heart to the details of his relationship with Reid, feeling uncomfortable like he was a voyeur into the intimate details of Reid's life. But he also relished the sound of Ethan's voice; just hearing it had become a sort of drug for him, and he sought it again and again.

He had often thought back to the two days he had spent with Ethan when Reid had been hostage. He had underestimated the intensity of the attachment between them. Finally Ethan had admitted to Morgan's suspicions that it was sexual, and Morgan had been stunned. So many times Reid had asked him questions about girls - completely clueless as to how to approach one, a simple request for a date being impossibly daunting for Reid. And his affection for Aubrey had been genuine. They had all seen it - the joy when he said she had consented to marry him. Even Ethan had said it, "Spencer is not gay". And now, listening to Ethan's distress, Morgan found himself annoyed with Reid's arrogance. How could he think he had a right to string someone along? Ethan was honest with him, and cared about him so deeply, and Reid went along getting what he needed in bed and knowing that he wanted a woman. It was cruel.

These were the things that Morgan told himself as he dialed Ethan again to check on him and tell him "good morning".

~~/~~

Reid found Elle in the barn, sorting feed supplements into buckets, each marked with the name of a horse. She looked up and smiled softly when she saw him, before continuing her work. "If you don't feed them around the same time every day, does awful things to their guts."

"Seven-thirty a.m.?"

"Yep."

"What do you need?" he asked as he rolled up his sleeves.

"Climb up on that mountain of bales and get three down off the top, throw them down here. Work gloves over there."

"Uh . . . okay." He pulled on leather gloves as he raised a foot onto the bottom tier of hay bales.

"Do you want to know why I left, Reid?"

He paused at the top of the pile and looked down at her, grabbing a bale to steady himself. "You really don't have to t- . . ."

"Because I knew. I looked at him and I knew. I saw it. I saw what he was going to do. Literally."

The first bale bounced onto the floor of the room. He wiped hay dust from his brow. "I don't understand."

She stood and looked up at him. "I mean I saw it. My mom used to see things too. Before they happened. And they always happened."

Reid stood up and looked at her. She could see his mind working, that prison of logic struggling to comprehend the illogical. The paranormal.

"Elle . . ."

"Do you know what he said to me, Reid? He stepped close to me . . . really close so his breath was in my face," and here Reid saw her look away into space as she recalled it. As if she were telling the story to herself. " . . . and he leaned close and said, 'Thank you for letting me walk. You've made a lot of women very happy.' And then I saw it. I saw what he was going to do."

Reid tossed the last two bales down and climbed down. He walked to her and carefully put his hands on her folded arms. He could feel her trembling. "You said he came at you. Right?"

"Reid," she whispered, "I saw it. I saw him shooting me. I saw him take out the gun, before he did. I know he was going to kill me." She looked up into his eyes, "You believe me, right?"

He hesitated, still trying to digest. She stepped away, breaking his hold.

"The wheelbarrow is around the corner outside the door. We need to get those bales into it and cut the twine. Here," she pulled a jack knife out of her pocket and tossed it to him. "Make sure you put the twine in your pocket, don't leave it lying around."

Reid did as he was told, and they worked in silence for several minutes. He helped her carry feed buckets and hook them into every stall, then break flakes of hay away from the bales to put in feed troughs. They dumped the old water buckets and filled fresh water. The physical work and freshness of the morning cleared the air between them again, and the tense conversation was nearly forgotten. Reid watched Elle work, appreciating the slight smile that crept across her lips as she greeted each horse in his stall, put her hands on each one before stepping out and going on to the next one. He was happy to see her mood lifting.

"Elle, I need to tell you something."

"Yeah?" she said from the next stall.

There's something about last night. . ."

"What," she said, lining up the last of the pails and running the hose into them at once, "that you aren't ready for a commitment?" She laughed. "Reid, relax. It was fun. You were, by the way," she paused and looked him up and down, ". . . surprising."

Reid felt himself flush at the compliment. Perhaps he didn't need to say anything about Ethan. After all, she obviously saw it as a casual thing. "Okay. Well, uh . . . I'm going to find Hotch and Morgan," he gave a tight grin and turned to leave.

She had stood and was watching him walk away, when he turned suddenly and looked at her. "Uh, Elle. You uh . . . you were beautiful." He didn't see as he walked away quickly, the surprise in her eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five_

Reid pulled his sweater vest off and tossed it onto the bed with his tie. Glancing at his watch one more time, he examined his chin in the mirror and wondered if he shouldn't shave again this evening. He wanted to look his best.

In the many days that had passed since they returned to Quantico, Reid had gained some perspective. His time with Elle had grounded him, given him back a sense of himself. He had been confused, infuriated by Ethan's deliberate absence, and in his confusion he had made a mistake and reached out to a beautiful woman and an old friend. Doing so had violated every moral principal he stood for, but he knew that he had done it because he felt deserted in the first place. Surely that made it forgivable; even Morgan had pointed out that there was no formal commitment.

But even as he told himself these things over and over again, he felt sickened by the lack of self-control that he had discovered in himself, the easy way he had made the walk down the hallway to her bedroom. The brazen way he had climbed into her bed. He had never thought of himself as a vengeful person, but now he had to wonder, and it made him ashamed to have treated his bond with Ethan so casually. Now, back home for five weeks, he still struggled with the decision whether to tell Ethan what had happened and confess his selfishness and carelessness.

He and Morgan hadn't spoken further about their tense exchange, and they had come to an unspoken truce. He had been so angry at the thought that Morgan would have spoken to Ethan about their private conflicts, and it still unsettled him, but he had to be glad that Ethan considered Morgan a friend and had sought his advice. Perhaps he himself had been stupid not to just calm down and ask Morgan about what Ethan had said. But it made no difference now. He was going to ask Ethan himself anyway. Things would be better once they got it all out in the open and talked out whatever was wrong.

His intellect reminded him that his sleeping with Elle had been instructive after all, and therefore valuable. The experience of a woman in his arms again had been deeply moving for him. The softness of her, the delicacy of her, the silkiness of her skin, her perfume and sex, her long hair falling over his shoulders - it had all reminded him on a primal level of his maleness. It had drawn him in strongly, and it had felt good. He had felt confident again in a way he hadn't since . . . since Aubrey.

And yet Elle had been so different from Aubrey. Elle was stronger, bolder, her hands and mouth were demanding; it had been exciting in the way it was with Ethan, and more. It had been good for him. But he had already made a conscious decision to be with Ethan at this time in his life. Ethan's love for him had saved his life, had sustained him, and he knew he had to value it now. Perhaps that was it - if he could just make Ethan know how he valued their relationship, all would heal. After all - Reid told himself - weren't all relationships made of peaks and valleys? They were just in a valley, and perhaps there were things stressing Ethan that he didn't even know about. They would talk this weekend, they would connect, they would laugh, they would make love to each other. It would all come back. He had been stupid to think otherwise, and stupid to stray. It had been a mistake, but it could be one beneficial to himself and harmless to Ethan, if it had brought him back to his senses and made him treasure what he already had.

And tonight he would need to decide what he would tell Ethan, if anything. Tonight Ethan was coming to stay a few days, finally, after weeks of excuses. Reid had risen early and made the apartment ready, every detail. Ethan's favorite foods, a new bottle of good bourbon. He had thought all day at the BAU about the moment Ethan would arrive, how welcome he would make him feel. He thought about working hard - more than he had before - to make his lover understand how much he wanted him. For the first time since they had been lovers, Reid felt butterflies of anticipation at the thought of putting his hands on Ethan, seeing the dark eyes, kissing his mouth, the way Ethan made him feel that the world was stable. And he felt the anticipation of the roughness of a man's hands on him again.

Reid had nearly danced through the supermarket. He had put aside his characteristic shyness to smile at passers-by; he even attempted to flirt with a cashier. He had stopped at a corner flower vendor and bought five bunches to decorate the apartment, laughing at the excess. He had watched a young couple holding hands, their heads bent together, and felt grateful that he had a love too, and tonight he would have Ethan in his arms. He had also caught his own eyes falling on the curve of the girl's waist where the young man's arm circled it, the swell of her buttocks below it, his mind automatically undressing her, and he had pushed away the thought before having to acknowledge it.

Ethan had told him not to rush to the airport after work, that he could take a cab. Now, Reid wondered if there was a delay. The plane should have come in nearly an hour ago. Even if there was still rush hour traffic, Ethan should be at the door any moment. Reid hung up his sweater and tie, took a last sweep around the bedroom. He looked at the bed, so quiet and orderly now, and smiled knowing that in a few short hours they would be there together, messing it all up and making up for lost time.

~~/~~

Ethan felt his chest pounding as he stood at Spencer's door. In the cab on the way over he had rehearsed a half dozen excuses, and none of them sounded very good. He still wasn't sure what was going to come out of his own mouth. He placed his hand flat on the door and thought about the last few months, all the crazy emotions. He imagined that he felt the heat of Spencer on the other side of the door, and something deep and yearning in his chest ached. He inhaled slowly and rang the bell.

Spencer didn't look angry, Ethan was surprised to see. He stood looking at Ethan with worry in his eyes, and something else maybe - something resembling a sort of surprised hurt. Ethan swallowed hard. "I'm so sorry, I should have called. I stopped off to see a business contact - a guy talking to me about going down to play the club - I don't know it will work out for him, though." He stopped and watched Spencer looking at him, trying to read his eyes. "I'm sorry, Spence. God, it's good to see your face."

Spencer reached out and pulled Ethan to him. He kissed his mouth deeply, not caring that they were standing in the open doorway. He kissed the side of Ethan's face, holding a handful of hair, and breathing in his aftershave. "I missed you," came the whisper into his ear.

Ethan laughed deep in his throat, feeling himself melt into Spencer. He ran his hands up and down Spencer's back, feeling the familiar thin frame. "Your neighbors might walk up on us, Babe."

Spencer laughed and pulled him into the apartment, then brought the suitcase in after him. "I was worried about you, Man. I called the airport to make sure the plane came in."

"I know, it was rude. I'm sorry. He wanted to have a drink, play a bit for me. I told my boss I'd check him out . . . I should have told you I was going to do it, but it came up at the last minute."

"Hey, don't worry about it. You want a drink? Have you eaten?"

"No," Ethan lied, "let me take you out."

~~/~~

Ethan sat across the booth and took in Spencer with his eyes. As always when he saw his boyfriend again after a period of absence, he was surprised by Spencer's beauty. He watched the familiar nervous twitch of the nose, the shy half-smiles, the soft hair falling to tickle long eyelashes, the sexy heavily-lidded eyes that looked darker here in the dim light of the restaurant. And Spencer was so wonderful tonight - his old self again: witty, goofy, engaging, interesting, kind. He was genuinely happy at the reunion, Ethan could see that plainly. So many moments in the past months he had been amazed to realize that such a beauty had accepted him and allowed him to come close. But as he considered how happy Spencer seemed to be with him tonight he felt a pang of guilt. Studying Spencer's face now, Ethan felt himself aroused physically and emotionally, and knew he needed to come clean.

"Do you know how much I love you?" he asked softly. He took looked down, not waiting for Spencer's reaction to the words, and picked up another forkful of lasagna.

Spencer stopped eating and put his fork down, watching Ethan. He realized that he had always withheld those words himself, from Ethan. It was his last measure of pride of who he really was, the last statement between them of the reality of their situation. The last piece of Spencer that said he was heterosexual. He knew that the words if ever spoken would be a declaration to Ethan, that the feelings Spencer felt would be equal to what he had felt for Aubrey, what he could feel as a man for a woman. And so he had never been able to return them for Ethan. In the past he had never been sorry for that - knowing that it was fair and justified - but looking at Ethan now, he was sorry. _I can't say that to you, I'm so sorry._ He hesitated, not certain what to offer now instead. He said, "I want you so much tonight. I need you." That much was true.

_You always NEED me._ Ethan was silent, raising his eyes to Spencer's as he chewed, a quiet smile on his lips. He needed another drink. He motioned the waiter over. "You want another one, Spence? I've just started."

Spencer chatted happily about work, about the new case, about running into an old friend again - someone who had worked at the BAU and left years ago. He had been on a horse for the first time. Ethan laughed at the image of an awkward Spencer atop a horse, clinging to the saddle horn for dear life. He squinted in disbelief at the idea of Spencer picking hooves, hauling hay bales and feed. He watched the candlelight dance in Spencer's eyes and thanked Fate for giving Spencer another chance at life, after the fight with addiction.

"I need to talk to you about something," Ethan said slowly when dessert came with another brandy.

"You sound serious," Spencer joked and leaned back against the seat of the booth, sipping his Irish coffee. His cheeks were flushed from the food and wine - Ethan could see it even in the dim light. The handsome face didn't show a single line of worry; Spencer was content and at ease this evening.

Ethan took a swallow of brandy and swished it around his mouth before swallowing. He watch the liquid swirl in the snifter. He cleared his throat.

"I . . I need you to just listen to me, Spence." _Just listen, please . . ._

Spencer gave a short laugh, "Okay, I'm listening, what's up?"

Ethan forced himself to look up at Spencer. He watched his friend cradle elegant long fingers around the coffee mug, absorbing the warmth. He remembered those fingers tracing lines on his skin. He heard his own breath shake, with longing and fear. "I . . . I've done a lot of thinking these days. About myself. What I want, you know."

"You mean your music? I thought you were doing what you want."

_Listen dammit! Shut your pretty mouth and listen._ "I am. No, not that. I mean what I want in . . ." Ethan inhaled and leveled his eyes at Spencer. "I want you. I am not sorry for a single moment with you. Not any of it."

"I know. . ." Spencer sat up straight, lay his cup on the table, and watched Ethan's face, trying to put together the whole story within Ethan's lack of articulation. "You've been avoiding me."

"I didn't mean to."

"You talked to Morgan about it. I know you have been struggling with something."

"What did Morgan say?"

"Nothing really. Just that you thought I wasn't committed." Spencer casually dumped a sugar packet into this cup and stirred.

"I never demanded that."

"No."

The friends sat in uncomfortable silence then for several minutes, avoiding the other's eyes, pretending to watch the other people in the room. Ethan finally spoke, "I've been with someone else. It just started as a friendship, and we've only been together once, Spence." _There, I said it. Now you know._

He stopped and looked at Spencer's open-mouthed stare. Even now, he watched Spencer's full bottom lip and wanted to feel his own mouth on it. Desire for Spencer had become the constant torture of his existence and he resented it. He could see thoughts wrestling behind Spencer's eyes, which now stared past him into nowhere.

"Spencer? You okay?"

Spencer came to, and looked at Ethan without emotion. "Yeah. . ." he said shakily, and abruptly got up and left. Ethan expected him to head for the men's room but saw him head for the front door, stopping to hand some bills to the waiter. _Oh man. Oh, God, I'm an asshole. I didn't want to hurt you._ He grabbed their jackets out of the booth and made his way through the restaurant to the door.

Ethan caught up with him on the sidewalk and shoved Spencer's jacket toward him. He struggled to keep up to Spencer's long strides. "Spencer, I didn't tell you this to hurt you. I didn't want to carry it around and then BE with you and pretend." _I couldn't fuck you and lie to you, don't you understand?_

Ethan looked around them, and grabbed Spencer by the arm, shoving him into an alcove and up against a wall. He held him and leaned into his face, the wide-eyed gaze burning an accusing hole in him now. "Baby, please. I love you. I love you." He kissed the soft lips between words. "I'm an ass. Forgive me. Spencer. . ."

Spencer's mouth didn't return the kiss. But it lay soft and supple under his, yielding. Then he felt Spencer's hand over his as it coaxed him to release his hold. He dropped his hands to his sides, still standing close, acquiescing. Spencer gripped his hand and pulled him back out onto the sidewalk. He stepped into the street and raised his arm to hail a cab. Ethan watched the breeze lift strands of Spencer's hair around his face as the car pulled to a stop beside them. _God, you're so beautiful._

~~/~~


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter Six_

Ethan watched Spencer's hand tremble as he struggled to get the key into the lock of his apartment. They had ridden back in silence, Spencer staring out the window into the night traffic. But when Ethan had reached to stroke Spencer's arm in the darkness of the taxi, he hadn't felt any hostility. Now, they entered the apartment without speaking and Spencer closed the door softly. He raised his eyes to Ethan and spoke to him for the first time since they had been in the restaurant. "It's late," he said quietly. He took Ethan's hand, twining his fingers between Ethan's and led him into the bedroom.

This ready act of forgiveness stunned Ethan. He had felt Spencer's hurt in the restaurant and had tasted it when he had kissed him on the street. He knew that his confession had cost something. He stood in the bedroom and watched as Spencer switched on the bed lamp and then shed his jacket and hung it in the closet. Spencer turned and looked at Ethan, waiting. "Give me your jacket, Ethan." Ethan took off his jacket and handed it to Spencer. He began to undo the buttons of his shirt.

Spencer stood watching him for a bit, and then said, "Wait." He came to Ethan and lay his hands over Ethan's to stop him from opening the shirt all the way. _It's too much, I understand. You can't forgive me this. You're going to leave me, aren't you? You're going to end this._ Ethan watched Spencer's eyes settle on their hands together, then slowly lift to meet his.

"I . . .you know, Elle. Ethan. I slept with her."

Ethan felt the breath leave him. _A woman. A WOMAN. I can't compete with that. Oh, God. It's finally happening, isn't it Baby?_

"A woman. Of course," he said as he fought to keep sarcasm from his tone, "how was it?" He looked into Spencer's face, daring him to look away.

Spencer's gaze swept down again, and he took his hands off Ethan's, dropping them at his sides. "It was different. NOT better. Just different."

Spencer sat down on the side of the bed, and exhaled loudly. "I tried calling you so many times. You knew that. You KNEW that. I thought. . . " he struggled with the words. "Ethan, when I was in New Orleans you were different. I got scared."

"Scared of WHAT?" Ethan demanded, knowing his voice was louder than it needed to be.

"That you . . . didn't want this anymore. I mean, I guess I would understand. But I didn't know how to just be okay with it. And then it was a week later and you wouldn't answer the phone. I tried until 2 in the morning, Man. I gave up. I thought you didn't want this. She . . she seduced me."

"Convenient."

"It's the truth."

"You let her."

"Yeah," Spencer whispered. Then he laughed softly, "I never in my life thought I'd have this conversation with someone. I didn't think I was the type of man who would . . ."

Ethan felt perspiration on his forehead. He fumbled with his buttons, re-buttoning them, not really knowing why. He felt exposed. Spencer sat and watched him silently. After a time, he rose and went to the closet, returning with a blanket and pajamas. He took a pillow from the bed and headed for the door. He stopped beside Ethan and said softly, "You get some sleep. Tell me if you need anything. And Ethan . . . um, I am sorry. Deeply. I'm sorry I did it. I am." He closed the door gently, leaving Ethan alone.

~~/~~

Ethan lay awake looking at the ceiling, willing his head to stop spinning. He hardly knew himself since he had starting seeing Spencer again. He hadn't cried since he was nine years old, and yet the past few months he had cried many times. And now, he felt the moisture drip down the sides of his face and around his ears. _A woman. Why couldn't you wait, just for a little while, and just let it be us? Damn you Spencer._

He had found himself on the phone whining to Derrick Morgan of all people about the fact that Spencer didn't love him like he wanted him to. Like he needed him to. Morgan had been genuinely concerned and accommodating, even putting up with late night calls, when Ethan knew he would have to work early the next morning. And these past weeks, Morgan - with whom Spencer worked and considered a friend - had been a great friend to Ethan. During the time they had together watched Spencer drive himself to near self-destruction, they had forged a bond. In the beginning they had barely been able to tolerate one another: Ethan had found Morgan a rather vain, chauvinistic brute, and he had detected some jealousy from Morgan when he had come to Spencer's aid. He had even wondered if there was some homophobia there, when Morgan asked prying questions as to the nature of the relationship between Ethan and Spencer.

Now, looking back, Ethan saw things differently. Morgan had been frightened for Spencer, and in over his head. He had called Ethan for help because he didn't know what else to do, and had understandably been surprised to find there was a romantic relationship there. When Morgan had maintained the suspicions and hostility, even while cooperating with Ethan, it was simply that he had been unwilling to accept the sexual aspect of the relationship. But Ethan knew now that it wasn't because Morgan was uncomfortable with Spencer being with a man. It was because Morgan was uncomfortable with his own feelings. And . . . Ethan knew now that Morgan had been unable to confront his own feelings toward Ethan himself.

They had spent long hours on the phone in the past month. Each talking about their lives, their histories, their belief systems, their needs. Their fears. Their love for Spencer. But for Morgan it was the love of a friend and colleague - love for a little brother. Ethan was sometimes amused that Morgan spoke of Spencer as if Spencer were some naive kid, not the complicated, multi-dimensional man that Ethan knew and admired.

And finally, Morgan had said it. He had said to Ethan that he might understand the attraction to a man. And from that moment it all fell into place for Ethan, all of it: Morgan's initial hostility, his protectiveness toward Spencer, all the mixed signals he sent Ethan from the beginning. Today, Ethan had left the airport and gone straight to Morgan, not stopping to think. Not wanting to think. _You don't even know the worst of it, Baby._

Ethan closed his eyes and groaned. What had he done? He and Spencer had come through fire together. He had known the most emotional and heart-shattering moments of his life in the arms of Spencer. Those things could not be dismissed. Those moments now defined who Ethan was. Before everything, he loved Spencer. But . . . that love had become so painful, as Ethan had begun to admit to himself its limitations. That it would never be quite mutual. He found himself constantly vacillating between unspeakable gratitude for Spencer's wanting to be with him, and absolute fury that he deserved better than a lover who wouldn't give as much as he himself would. Over time he had grown exhausted with the see-saw. More often now, he just needed to know he was wanted. And so he too had made a mistake, seeking something he didn't find with Spencer.

And Spencer had told him that he was afraid of losing Ethan's love. Spencer _had_ said that. And he had been so happy to see him tonight. He had said over dinner, "I need you." Nothing was changed. And Ethan couldn't remember that Spencer had ever before been so calm and giving when it came to showing Ethan affection. He had always been a bit timid, withholding this piece and that, picking and choosing what he would offer and what he would hold back. Tonight he had been more giving than he ever had before. And he had told Ethan the truth, even after Ethan's having dropped a bomb on him. _Oh, Spence._

Ethan wondered if Spencer were sleeping, out alone on the couch. He rose and opened the door carefully, and walked carefully down the hall into the living room. Spencer was sitting up on the sofa in the dark, blanket wrapped around him, looking toward the window where the street lights softly shone through. He turned his face toward Ethan as Ethan stepped into the room.

Ethan strode to Spencer and knelt on the floor in front of him. He reached up and brushed Spencer's long bangs back with both of his hands. He held Spencer's face and ran his thumbs over the sharp cheekbones. "Please come to bed with me. Please?"

And so for the second time they walked to the bedroom together, hands entwined. Spencer watched Ethan's face as he let Ethan peel his T-shirt up and over his head. "I want your skin against me," Ethan whispered. Spencer felt old, as if he had been much more innocent before this evening. Before he had slept with Elle. He bent and pulled off his pajamas. He wanted Ethan's skin on him too.

They fell onto the bed with their hands on each other. "I missed you so much," Spencer whispered and kissed Ethan's face. He held Ethan's hands to his own face and kissed them - the knuckles, the palms. "I've been so stupid, Ethan."

Ethan looked into Spencer's eyes, smiling softly. "We've both been stupid."

"Ethan . . .," Spencer's whisper filled the darkness with intimacy, "I am so happy when I'm with you. So happy. I'm empty when you're gone." He stopped and Ethan listened to him breathing, felt him thinking about his next words. "I don't deserve you. I know I don't. I do love you in the way that I can. I wish you knew. I do. But I always feel that there is something missing. It's like. . . it's like I know that no matter how much I will ever love being with you, there will always be some little piece missing. I can't explain it."

Ethan started to answer, but Spencer's words stopped him again, "I can't believe that you love me like you do. You're amazing . . .amazing. Your soul is so big, so strong. You wrapped yourself around me. It has . . " and his voice broke, and Ethan heard him swallow, "it has healed me. Healed me. And I'm so ashamed that I can't give you everything. I want to. I WANT to Ethan. I want to."

Ethan watched tears roll down Spencer's face. He touched one that rolled across Spencer's nose, with his fingertip. He ran his fingers over Spencer's lips and kissed them softly. "What sort of a god, do you think, gave you to me, and made you so that you couldn't love me? What sort of joke was that?"

Spencer coughed at Ethan's words, choking back a sob. "I want you Ethan. I want to be with you. I don't know if that matters. . ."

"It matters."

Ethan ran his hands over Spencer's body and moved over him, pinning him with his weight. As he often had, he felt an intense protectiveness toward Spencer. "I love you, I don't care. I love you. I love you," he whispered into Spencer's hair, against his throat, onto his chest. He felt Spencer's hands grasping him, his shoulders, his hips, his buttocks. Spencer kissed him back, fiercely, and Ethan felt Spencer's cock grow hard between them.

They clung to each other, rolling in the sheets, kissing, gasping, licking, biting, sighing, sucking, whispering, fucking. Each gave all that they could to the other. Each felt the other's heart pounding, and his own heart soar. Each hoped fervently that the uneasy dance they had learned to do together would be enough.

~~/~~

"Brad, don't be an ass." Elle walked quickly down the porch steps and across the drive toward the barn.

Dr. Ellington stalked after her. "You can't just hire some guy because he says he needs a job. This guy has no resume? You have to learn to be more careful."

"News flash. I hired everyone ELSE without your approval." She threw open the tack room door and chose a halter and rope off the wall.

"Yeah, and look how that turned out." He stood in the door, his face red with emotion.

"You're implying that the murder of two of my employees was somehow MY fault? You've got to be kidding," she cocked her head and smirked at him.

"Look," he softened his tone, "I just think that two heads is better than one. I'm just trying to take care of you. If I were around more, maybe . . ."

"I'm not ready for that. We've discussed it. I don't want to live with you, Brad."

"So what, we're just fooling around? Like teenagers?"

"I thought you could be an adult. Evidently not. Move. MOVE." She waited for him to step out of the doorway, glaring. He didn't.

"What."

"You need to get serious about this. About us."

"Or what?" She returned his stare evenly, unblinkingly. He hated her for it. Couldn't she just be soft, just for a moment? Couldn't she let him take the reins once, take care of her? He just wanted to take care of her. There was nothing wrong with that.

"You know," he said slowly, calculating, "you just might end up alone someday. Alone with your horses. Wishing you had relaxed a little and just tried to be more of a woman." He returned her smirk with a mean smile.

She took a step toward him, looking up into his eyes. "I. Said. Move."

He grabbed her arm and shoved her against the door frame, bending to kiss her. She kneed him hard in the groin. He slapped her hard across the face before thinking.

"Elle, Elle. . .I didn't mean that. I'm sorry . . ." But she had slipped past him. He ran to catch her, reaching to grab her arm. She spun around and her eyes were wet. She spat into his face, "You know what Brad? I won't be alone! I'm pregnant!"

The surprise in his face delighted her and spurred her on. She stepped close to his face again, daring him to manhandle her once more. "I'm carrying the child of a man who is far better than you will ever be. Now get the fuck off my property."


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter Seven_

Elle stood before the mirror of her bureau and studied her own face. There were still no permanent lines there, she noted with satisfaction, and she was nearly thirty-seven. She wondered if the pregnancy would take a toll on her beauty, would create gray hairs, stretch marks, make her fat. She wondered when she would start to see the changes.

The decision to keep the pregnancy had been conscious and easy. After all, she had probably gotten pregnant on purpose - it hadn't been calculated, certainly, but she had taken no precautions either. The last few years she had become keenly aware of the possibilities for her future. She didn't see herself with a man, not really. She had fought hard to be independent. To not have to depend on anyone for anything - materially or emotionally - was a freedom that she had guarded. For that freedom, she had paid a price: companionship, safety. But now she had the farm, and she had not seen herself needing anything more, except perhaps a child.

Her mother had returned to Cuba a few years before, but for Elle that was not an option - to live in a society where liberties were minimal. She was an American, like her father, and like him she didn't take kindly to dictators - not in a government and not in her private life. That was why she had kept Brad at a distance. He was handsome, manly, smart, and she knew that he would do whatever he had to, to take care of her. And that was the problem - he believed that she needed taken care of. She, who had once carried a gun on her belt and worked with one of the premiere F.B.I. units in the country. She, whose father had received postmortem decorations for bravery in the line of duty. She, whose mother had come alone to America in a boat at sixteen years of age, not even speaking the language. She, who had survived a direct gunshot and had killed a man in self-defense. Brad Ellington had no idea what courage was. It wasn't about brawn and giving women orders.

She was grateful that she had spurned Brad's advances and kept him at bay for so long. She knew that Reid had to be the father. _Reid_. The father of her baby. Good grief. Socially inept, shy Spencer Reid. At least this child would be beautiful - Reid would contribute that for certain. And brains to spare.

Elle dug in a dresser drawer and took out a large photograph: the BAU team, back when she had been one of them, in a moment of informality. She herself sitting on a desk, smiling; Morgan in his desk chair, legs spread, arms resting across his abdomen - all man; Gideon standing behind Reid, a fatherly hand on his shoulder; Hotch standing apart, unsmiling, arms folded across his chest, unable to truly join in any comradery even then; Garcia, laughing at Morgan; J.J. looking prim and together as always; and Reid, staring into the camera's eye, thinking. Always thinking. He hadn't been wearing his glasses for once, and his eyes even at a distance were arresting, penetrating - the intelligence in plain display.

He looked so different now. His hair was soft and loose, not slicked down. The glasses were gone. She recalled the way he walked then - as if the floor were always slick and he would fall. Now, he had taken on an easy, confident gait; the lack of grace was gone, and in its place - well, she liked the way Reid moved now. She had often, in the few days he was here, found herself watching him move. She liked the long lines - no longer merely gangly but now elegant. She liked his voice - the familiar squeak coming only occasionally, the warmth and character constant.

But the biggest difference had been a sort of presence that wasn't there all those years ago. Then, he had stood behind his team members, striving to learn, trying to find his courage, if he had any. He had always been kind. Always kind. Especially to Elle, and in particular when she started to falter. Yes, he had had even then, at twenty-four, an innate kindness that betrayed his concern for those around him, even while he struggled so hard to relate to them.

The Reid that had been here a month ago had been kind too, and still shy. But she couldn't forget her surprise when he had come to her in the night, not a boy but a man. He had put his hands and his mouth on her in ways that had made her surrender into his arms, as if he were practiced. He had stirred her to her core. She closed her eyes now and tried to see his face, remember the smell of him, the taste. She smiled to herself and unconsciously moved her hands to rest on her belly.

She had heard in passing about his problems - the kidnapping, torture. He had mentioned drugs, and a fiance. The years had surely changed him. She wondered how much pain he had known, how it had pushed him to become who he was now. He had spent seven years at the BAU - she imagined that now he no longer stepped behind his teammates when his gun was drawn.

Elle had often imagined - from when she first determined to stop protecting herself for pregnancy, no matter what came - that she would someday raise a child alone, without the father being nearby. It saddened her somewhat - her own father had been an enormous influence on her, and a comfort to her even after his death. But allowing that for her own child would mean a loss of the freedom to be herself, and that was a too frightening a prospect for Elle to accept.

Ironic, she thought as she dressed for the day, that the type of man to which she had always been attracted - big, strong-willed and strong-tempered - would be the type she would end up avoiding. Brad never had a chance, beyond a few good times in bed with her. In the end she couldn't stomach the dominance, the arrogance, the insistence upon control of her.

As she walked down the hallway and down the stairs, she thought about Reid. She would have to tell him - it was only right. But he needn't have any part in it. He could know his child or not, she'd let him choose. If he did have a role in this child's life, she didn't think she would mind. Seeing Reid from time to time would be nice. There were so many things they could talk about, and they always had fun together. It could be very nice. And comfortable. For both of them.

She was finishing a piece of toast when she heard the truck in the drive: her new employee. She had hired him unseen over the phone, much to Brad's consternation. But she had liked his voice - the latino accent, the youth, the sincerity as he talked about making a fresh start away from Richmond, finding his footing. He seemed to know horses. What else was there, really? She was looking forward to having someone around to exercise them all - she didn't have enough hours in the day to take them all out - and to help her break the young ones. She could do more breeding this year after all. It would be good.

Hotch hadn't called her in three weeks now. The case had gone cold, while they waited on forensics tests that wouldn't make a difference anyway, most likely. The memory of the two kids dead in the manure pile was a bad one - when she thought about that night she could still smell the rain and see the flashing lights all over her farmyard. And Arturo - she felt herself wince at the memory of putting him down. It had been a hellish night, and she had been more than happy to move on from it, whether the killer was found or not. The fact that the killer had been on her property when the bodies were disposed of, was something that she refused to dwell upon. There was obviously no danger now, whatever had motivated the killing was beyond this farm, and she was not going to let it overwhelm her.

She crossed the parlor to answer the door before he could knock. He stood on the porch, hands in pockets, lifting his eyes to meet hers in politeness, not preference. "Senora Greenaway?"

"Emilio. Come in." She smiled and turned into the parlor. "I'll show you your bunkhouse in a bit. Why don't you have some coffee? Do you need breakfast? Have you eaten?"

"Oh, si, Senora. Gracias." He took a seat at the kitchen table, obeying her gesture. He fidgeted nervously, shifting his weight on the chair. "Thank you for . . giving me a chance here."

"If you work hard, you'll be just fine," she said as she set a steaming cup in front of him. She dropped into the chair opposite him. "You grew up in Richmond?"

"Si."

"You don't like it there?"

"Things just got crazy there. Personal things." He looked up at her, suddenly thinking that she might get the wrong idea. "Not illegal things, Senora. Just some personal things. I needed to make a new start."

Elle regarded him carefully, sipping her coffee. "That I can understand. Needing to make a new start.

"Si," he said softly, and looked down at his lap. "Sometimes . . it is what you must do."

Elle was suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of disconnection, vertigo. She blinked several times and looked at Emilio. He looked up at her, and blood was running down his face; one of his eyes was bloody and swollen shut; he was missing teeth and when he spoke she couldn't hear what he was saying, but saliva and blood ran from his mouth, carrying pieces of the broken teeth and what she thought might be pieces of his jaw. . .He reached across the table for her and his hands were bloody. She jumped up and away from him, spilling her coffee.

"Senora, are you okay?" he was saying now. She stood and looked at the coffee running over the side of the table and when she looked back at Emilio, she saw that there was no blood. Nothing.

"Oh, God," she said, embarrassed. "I'm so sorry. I haven't been feeling well this morning. I'm sorry."

He was already mopping at the spilled coffee with a dishtowel, leaning respectfully around her, pulling the chair away from the table. "Sit down, Senora. Sit down."

"I'm sorry," she said again as she slowly lowered herself into the chair. "I'll get Esteban to show you where you'll be staying," she said, fighting to keep her voice steady as she dialed her cell.

~~/~~

Reid glanced around cautiously as he stood at the check-in line with Ethan. He stepped close to Ethan and slowly touched Ethan's fingers with his own, trying not to be obvious to those around them.

"You really don't have to wait, Spence. It's going to take a while to go through this line. It's okay."

"I don't mind." Spencer looked into Ethan's eyes deeply, smiling softly. His eyes darted between Ethan's eyes and his mouth, the curls in his dark hair. "I'll be with you soon. Two weeks."

Ethan smiled and dug his ID out of his wallet, and shuffled it with the ticket in his hands. He looked up into Spencer's eyes again, "We'll be okay," he said quietly. "I'll miss you for two weeks. Bad."

Spencer drunk in Ethan's gaze. The past two days had been good. They had talked, had told everything and had forgiven it all. Spencer felt as though he had told Ethan things that he never thought he would be able to, and had been heard and accepted. The intensity of their relationship had returned and where there had been doubt between them for weeks, they had finally managed to sow hope.

Suddenly an airline employee gestured for Ethan to move into a shorter line and go through the screening. Ethan nodded to her and picked up his bag. Impulsively, Spencer wrapped an arm around Ethan's neck and pulled him close, kissing his mouth. Then he turned and walked away, smiling back at Ethan and waving a hand as he went.

Ethan walked to the screening station, watching Reid until he disappeared. He told himself that he was doing right to keep the rest of his secret, that it would never matter anyway, that it would never hurt them. Spencer didn't have to ever know who it was that he had been with.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter Eight_

Reid watched the cab pull up with Elle inside, and stepped forward to pay the driver before she could. He smiled at the sight of her pretty face. "Thanks," she said as he closed the car door after her. "You really didn't have to do that."

"I know," he said. He stooped to receive her kiss on his cheek. " I wanted to."

"Thanks for meeting me," she said, looking up at the facade of the restaurant. "I used to love to come here."

They were seated at a table by the front windows, and Spencer loved it. He walked the foot traffic pass by as they chatted. He was glad she had called him to have lunch. He valued the friendship, and after all there was nothing between them. The most private parts of his life belonged to Ethan, perhaps even more than they had before Reid's misstep with Elle.

"Have you seen the team?" he asked.

"No," she answered, looking into his face. "I didn't come here to see the team."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you probably would, that's all. Didn't you and J.J. used to be good friends?"

"Yes, we did, I guess." She broke a breadstick in half.

"I suppose you're too far away now, huh?" He smiled at her. He didn't mind meeting her - he liked Elle and loved her company. He just didn't want to be anywhere near a bedroom with her around. Despite having reassessed his moral principals - or lack of conviction - he still didn't quite trust himself with her. He didn't trust her aggressiveness with her sexuality. It intimidated him, and worse it had excited him so that he had lost his good judgment, when he had gone into her room back at her farm. But here in the safety of this public place, he allowed himself to admire her. She wore a simple yellow dress that outlined her figure. Her bare arms were tanned, and he noticed the grace of her neck with her hair up, and the way the red earrings swung and made shadows on her throat. A memory flashed through his mind of him tangling his hands in her hair, and the smell of it came back with a jolt.

"What?" she said.

"What? Excuse me?"

"You're staring, Reid."

His lips parted slightly in surprise, and she found herself staring in turn at them. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I'm . . . sorry. You look very nice."

She didn't answer, and smirked at him. But her eyes were warm. "You're not getting me into bed again, Reid."

He felt his face flush and looked down, pretending to concentrate on the menu. He had never known quite what to do with Elle and the directness of her humor. He always felt he should answer it, preferably with something equally humorous, but her teasing always left him at a loss for words somehow.

Soon they had ordered and settled into the old familiar banter. He told her about the latest cases. She listened, rapt with every word. She told him that a part of her envied the excitement his life had. He laughed. He told her that kidnapping and torture was too much excitement. She found herself feeling sad that those memories were still so much with him that he would bring them up so readily again, even in jest.

"Tell me," she said, running her finger around the rim of her wine glass. His gaze traced the outline of the red nail polish on each finger, the heat of the color appealing to his subconscious, "tell me about the drugs."

He cleared his throat, surprised at the question, even from one as direct as Elle, "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," she said calmly, "I just can't imagine how it must be. It must have changed you."

"Yes," he answered quietly and looked down to pick at his food with his fork. "It did."

"How long has it been?"

"Uh. . .I was sober for several years. And then Aubrey was killed, and I went back for a time. I've only been clean for five months."

"You think it's for good?" She leveled her gaze at him without flinching. Elle had never been one to mince words or shy away from the point of a conversation, and Reid loved that about her. He found that he had trouble understanding nuance in conversation - through the years he had experienced a lot of pain from misunderstanding someone else's meaning. Shades of meaning baffled him - people saying what they didn't mean in order to make some opposite point. Most conversations made him uncomfortable because he was always second-guessing his own interpretation of the motives. But with Elle, the directness was comforting. She didn't play with him. He trusted her.

"Well, they say 'never say never' you know, but yes, I think I have done it this time."

"Why?" she leaned forward, her elbows on the table, interested.

"Well . . because I had to think about things. About what I was losing. About what made me want to get up in the morning."

"Like what?"

"The work. The people. I have a godson you know. J.J.'s son. I want to see him grow up. I want to be part of that."

Elle felt her face flush slightly, and her heart rate increase. "Wow," she said, forcing herself not to break eye contact.

"I also found out who else was important," he continued quietly. "I do better by people now, I think."

Elle took a breath. "You have a girlfriend?" she asked calmly. She supposed not: Reid didn't strike her as the type to be unfaithful, and he would have been the night he spent with her.

"Uh, no, not really."

She laughed then. "Reid, you either do or you don't."

"Yeah, I know," he said quietly and returned her laugh. He played with this water glass. "I . . .uh. . . it's actually a boyfriend."

Elle sat back in her chair, digesting this. "Uh, wow." She was silent for several minutes, and Reid was torn between being sorry he had said anything and being irritated at her for having a problem with it.

Finally she looked up at him and said, "Did you tell him? About what happened between us?"

He looked at her, and she couldn't read the emotion behind his eyes. "Yeah. Yes. Of course."

"But it's okay now."

"Yes," and she saw a smile play at the corners of his mouth. "He is . . gold. You know? He has . . . forgiven me a lot of things."

Elle reached across the table and placed her hand over his. "I'm glad you have someone."

His eyes searched hers and saw genuine concern. "Thanks, Elle."

The waiter interrupted and asked if they wanted dessert. Elle said no, and Reid asked if she were certain. "I'm going to have some coffee. You want some?"

"You haven't kicked THAT habit, I've noticed," she joked as the waiter left. Reid smiled.

Elle couldn't believe she hadn't brought it up yet. Here they were at the end of lunch, and she still hadn't mustered the courage to tell him. But it had been so nice to fall back into the comfortable pattern with her old friend. She hadn't wanted to throw a wrench into it.

The news that he had a boyfriend had amazed her. She recalled all the times he had asked goofy questions about girls, the awkward courtship of J.J. back then. There had never been any hint that he was gay. And when he had been with her - she couldn't believe he hadn't felt anything. There had been too much passion in his kisses, his touch. He had been anything but passive. He had come after her in a way that had left her breathless, astounded, wondering who this new, more experienced Reid was. Now, she couldn't believe he was gay. But it wasn't her business. She was happy that he seemed to be in a good relationship.

As they rose to leave she said, "Do you have to get back to the BAU right away? Do you have a little time?"

"Uh. . . I can take some. They know I'm meeting you for lunch," he smiled, "Why?"

"There's a park a block over . . ."

"Yeah . . "

"Let's just . . walk a bit, okay?"

He looked down at her, flattered that she wanted more time with him. "Sure."

Ten minutes later they had settled on a bench. Reid stretched his long legs out in front of him and leaned back, closing his eyes and feeling the sun. Elle watched him. His skin was as smooth as hers was. His hair, wild around his collar, caught the sun and revealed a tiny bit of red in the light brown. His lips looked sensuous and inviting, and she remembered drawing them between hers and biting them softly. He was truly a beautiful man. She smiled to herself, considering herself lucky to have slept with him. After all, this child was a gift they were giving to one another, a gift they had made together.

"Reid," she said, and she brushed her fingers on his. He didn't move, just smiled slightly at the touch. "I need to tell you something."

He laughed. "The last time someone said that to me, it got kind of ugly." He laughed again.

"This isn't ugly," she said. "Reid . . . I . . we . . ." she watched an elderly couple walk by, holding hands. "We are going to have a baby."

Reid opened his eyes and sat up, alert. He raised an eyebrow, "Who is?"

"Us. You. You're a dad, big boy." She waited for his reaction, aware that her heart was beating so hard that she was certain it was moving her dress.

"What?" He scowled and looked deeply into her eyes. "WHAT?"

She was confused at the tone of his voice. What was that? Anger? No.

"What do you mean?" he demanded, still staring at her.

"What I said. We made a baby." Instinct prompted her to add quickly,"Don't worry about it. I don't need anything from you. I just wanted you to know. You have a right."

He sat back on the bench, blew air out between his lips. He stared at the ground. "Is it to late to end it?" he asked.

She turned toward him. "What did you say to me?"

"Elle," he spoke slowly, measuring his words,"My mother is a paranoid schizophrenic. That is hereditary."

She understood then, completely. He was terrified.

"Reid, there are other factors that play into that and you know it. There is no guarantee. . ."

"There is no guarantee that it wouldn't happen!" he interrupted. "I am not going to have children. EVER!"

"Well, it's a little late for that Reid."

"No it's not." His eyes swept down to her abdomen, and back up to her face. He took her hands, "Please Elle, please don't do this. You don't know. You don't know how bad it is!" His eyes were filled with moisture now. "Please . . . don't," he whispered.

"Reid," Elle swallowed. "I want this. It isn't all about you. I'm sorry."

She got up and walked away toward the street, hoping he wouldn't follow. She wiped at her eyes, cursing herself. She didn't cry, and now these days she cried all the time. Hormones. Must be.

She hailed a cab, and climbed inside quickly, feeling very alone. As it pulled away she dared to look back and saw Reid still sitting on the park bench, staring into space. By the time the cab dropped her at her own car miles away, she was calm and had regained her senses. She felt bad for Reid, and foolish that she had so greatly misunderstood the scars of his childhood. But his fears were ridiculous. Anyone knew that it took more than a few bad genes to determine a lifetime fighting schizophrenia. And after all, nothing had changed for her. She had done what she felt was right and informed the father. She had asked nothing of him and expected nothing. She wanted to do this herself, she preferred to do it by herself, and it was just as well that she didn't have to worry about him.

An hour and twenty minutes later, she was pulling into the lane of her farm. She was still fighting a lump in her throat, and her makeup had been completely ruined by tears shed all the way from Quantico. She was disgusted with herself, to be so overly emotional about it. It didn't really matter, anyway. But even as she told herself it didn't matter, she kept seeing in her mind the stricken look in Reid's eyes when he begged her to end the pregnancy, and it hurt.


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter Nine_

Morgan watched Reid scramble to pick up the pens that had fallen under his desk. The young agent glanced at Morgan and laughed apologetically as he sat up and put them back into the pen holder. "Sorry."

"You okay Kid? Something on your mind this afternoon?"

"Oh no," came the sweet smile again, "Just. . . clumsy." Reid went back to his pile of paperwork.

Morgan leaned back in his chair and twiddled his thumbs. He tried not to let his mind go down the road to wondering if something was up with Reid and Ethan, but he couldn't help it. These last hours at work were torture; Morgan would be on a plane in four hours. It had been weeks since Ethan had been to town to visit Reid. Weeks since . . .

Morgan rubbed a hand across his forehead and picked a file folder from his desk. He opened it across his lap and pretended to be looking at it. His mind wandered to the day Ethan had come. Morgan had been home from work only half an hour on that Friday when there was a knock on the door. He had opened it to see Ethan. After all their conversations over the phone - where the two had shared confidences, found a new closeness - seeing Ethan's face again was strange. He had said that he wanted to see Morgan before going to Reid's. He wanted to "say hello".

But not ten minutes after Morgan invited Ethan inside, the "hello" had turned into something more. It began with a touch - Ethan's hand brushing Morgan's face. The kiss was natural; much to Morgan's surprise it had not felt threatening. He had shared with Ethan that he had been subjected as a boy to years of sexual abuse, and he had feared that this would be like that. That memories would come flooding back. The same touches, the same motives - how could it be different? No matter what conversations he had had with himself in the thirty years since the nightmare, he couldn't believe that there would be a difference and he had been terrified to try and find out. And so he had lived a lie: for years he had fancied himself a lady's man and he had made sure everyone else knew that's what he was. Encounters with women had been easy. And so often they had been unfulfilling.

Sex was a necessity for Morgan, but not a joy. Through the years it had become a sort of mechanical dance. He pleasured each woman, as if from a distance, watching like a disinterested voyeur until she peaked and he could then take what he needed. Emotional involvement was never a part of the equation. It didn't have to be - Morgan rarely made a second date, and never a third.

The thought that sex with a man might be an option was something so abhorrent to him that he had not consciously considered it an an option. Not until Ethan. The days that Ethan spent with Reid, pulling him out of addiction, had enthralled Morgan. He had never witnessed tenderness between two men. He had watched silently - the night he had brought Reid back from the brink, out of a cheap motel and away from the trick he was turning, lost in a drug-induced daze. Ethan had undressed the young man, put him into a warm bath, washed Reid's limp body with his own hands, whispered words of comfort and affection and reassurance. Morgan had stood leaning against the door frame, feeling that he was especially privileged to watch the scene unfolding before his eyes. As if he were watching a film, some beautiful but imaginary scenario of the way it _could_ be, but never would be for him. He found himself envious of the bond Reid and Ethan shared as he watched it unfold and came to understand its depth. He had lain that night on the sofa in Reid's apartment, imagining that Ethan was holding Reid in the bedroom, lying with his body stretched out against Reid's, holding him tenderly like a lover would. Morgan had felt the muscles in his own body tense, his skin cry out, wanting to be held by someone who made it matter.

When Ethan had telephoned sometime later, Morgan had been surprised. He had seen the anguish Ethan experienced in the hours when they thought Reid wouldn't come out of the hostage situation alive. Ethan had been beside himself, inconsolable. Morgan had hurt for him, watching it. And even as he had watched, he had been jealous that Reid had such a source of devotion in his life - devotion from another man. He had begun to ask himself if Reid had been gay all along, but then Ethan had blatantly told him that Reid was not. Ethan had said - what was it? - that there were "limitations" to their relationship.

And so when Ethan had shared that he was unhappy in the relationship, Morgan had latched onto the fact. He was hungry to hear again and again that Reid couldn't - no, _wouldn't_ - give Ethan what he wanted and deserved. Someone like Ethan, someone who gave with abandon, loved with abandon. A heart that incredible. Sure, Reid had had a rough time of it, far rougher than anyone on the team - except maybe Hotch. But unlike Hotch, Reid had been just a kid when it started - the first kidnapping, the torture. Morgan had never been surprised about the drugs. He didn't know how Reid had held out as long as he had without losing some sanity.

And Morgan had loved Reid like a brother. And he still did. But brothers could disagree, couldn't they? And Reid didn't deserve Ethan. Morgan had come to the conviction that Ethan deserved to be loved with abandon too. And so he had become Ethan's most loyal confidant. He felt no remorse for whatever betrayal of Reid that might imply; he didn't care. He had come to know Ethan through their conversations, and he had felt that Ethan was being cheated.

When Ethan had kissed him, Morgan had responded with astonishment, and a full heart. He threw away his reservations when Ethan's hands began to touch him; he let Ethan sooth away his fears with his lips and whispered assurances. Later, when Ethan had rolled over in Morgan's bed to pick up his watch from the nightstand, and said that Reid would be worried and expecting him an hour ago, Morgan had noticed himself still trembling from want but grateful to have experienced what he had. He had found himself; he had found that he could desire someone, could stoke a fire. He had pulled Ethan back to him, wanting his arms around him for just five more minutes. Wanting the brand new feeling that he had never experienced in a sexual encounter. Wanting to reassure himself once more that he was holding and being held by a man and that there was no shame or terror in it. He had watched Ethan leave to go to his lover with not a small amount of desperation, and had kissed Ethan good-bye hungrily - something to force Ethan to remember him by.

And then he had waited. Ethan was silent for weeks, didn't call. He had watched Ethan and Reid patch up their differences, grow closer than ever. He had watched Reid at work, the beautiful lines of his face, and imagined Ethan's lips there. He looked at the long graceful angles of Reid's frame and imagined Ethan's hands on him, holding him tightly as he put himself inside Reid. He wondered what Reid said to Ethan, in the dark as they held one another after sex, when Ethan whispered, "I love you." He knew that the frustration Ethan had voiced to him had been real and serious: the issues from which that frustration was born had not magically disappeared. Morgan imagined that Reid felt when making love to Ethan the way that he, Morgan, felt when making love to a woman. There was no heat there. There couldn't be. All he had to do is wait and let it fall apart. And he chose to believe that it surely would, or he would have had to acknowledge that he would go crazy with wanting Ethan. Then two days ago, it had finally happened: his wait had finally paid off.

~~/~~

Morgan stepped onto the elevator, breathless from running to catch it. "Thanks, Reid."

"You're in a hurry. Big date?" Reid watched the floor numbers change above the doors as the elevator dropped to the parking garage.

"Uh, yeah. Kind of." Morgan willed the elevator to go faster.

Once they stepped into the garage, Reid fell into step beside Morgan as they walked toward the area where the team members usually parked. Morgan felt Reid's body energy keenly beside him and it made him nervous. The energy Ethan loved and desired. Morgan could smell it, feel it twining around him like fingers. How was it that Ethan wanted Reid so much, when Reid wasn't able to return it, while he - Morgan - would give anything . . .

Reid stopped at his car and pulled his keys from his messenger bag. "I hope you have a good time, whatever you're doing," he smiled.

Morgan stood for a moment looking at Reid, not wanting to seem too abrupt. "Yeah, thanks, I will. You too, whatever you do this weekend." He watched Reid place the key into the lock of the vintage car. The long, lean fingers that had touched Ethan, had been in Ethan's hair, caressed his back and arms and legs, wrapped themselves around his cock . . .

"Oh, Man." The folder had slipped from his hands, and the papers littered over the concrete. "Stupid. . ." he muttered to himself. Reid was there suddenly, stooping to help him pick up the scattered contents before Morgan realized what was inevitable.

Reid squatted and held the ticket in his hand, "Taking a trip?" and then he glanced at the destination. New Orleans.

Morgan tried to speak and couldn't. He watched the astonished look on Reid's face, watched the realization sink in. Morgan stood and pretended to rearrange his retrieved paperwork inside the folder. The moments ticked by torturously.

Finally Reid stood and without looking Morgan in the eye, handed him the ticket. "Have a good time," he said and strode to the door of his car, opened it and got in. Morgan was suddenly aware that the engine had revved, and he stepped aside to allow Reid's car to pass, leaving him standing there.

~~/~~

Reid's hands were shaking as he drove. His mind spun in several different directions. He felt as if he couldn't get it to settle on just one idea so that he could begin to chew on it - even begin to understand. If Morgan was going down there to visit New Orleans again outside of work, hear some music, have fun, why not just say it? Surely he was going to pick up some girls, do some drinking, be . . . Morgan. And Reid was certain he would look up Ethan too . . . why not? After it had come to his attention that Morgan and Ethan had been talking regularly before the last time Ethan visited, he had accepted that they were now friends. He found it uncomfortable that his good friend and his lover wanted to pal around, and he wasn't certain why he found it uncomfortable.

Betrayed, that was a better word. Why did he feel betrayed by this? He _knew_ Ethan loved him. He knew. So why had he developed this close friendship with Morgan, in which he had undoubtedly discussed things about Reid? How could Ethan do that? How could Morgan listen to it - to private details? He had considered Morgan a friend for nearly seven years. _Seven years!_ And Ethan - how could a person tell you that they were devoted to you and then talk about you to one of your closest friends? And for Morgan to be going down there to see him, without either of them saying a word. What was that?

And why would they be so secretive? Sure, it was a bit unsettling that Morgan had developed some sort of exclusive buddy thing with Ethan of all people, but perhaps they had something in common that Reid didn't see. But then why not just say so? The only reason Morgan would have kept the information to himself that he was going to visit Ethan this weekend would be that there was something they discussed that made Morgan uncomfortable about Reid knowing. And that was the part that Reid couldn't digest.

After all, hadn't he and Ethan resolved it all? Hadn't they held each other, hadn't he, Reid, confessed his deep feeling and need for Ethan, and hadn't he felt that they were closer than ever? What had happened since then? Ethan hadn't given a hint on the phone since then. He had led Reid to think that all was well. But then - Reid thought to himself now - perhaps Ethan wasn't talking to Morgan anymore about the most private parts of their lives. Perhaps not. Perhaps he was just being paranoid. But it was odd that Morgan would suddenly just. . . go to New Orleans, out of all the places in the country to fly off to for the weekend.

Reid inhaled and exhaled slowly, steadying himself. He was just jealous. And it was ridiculous. Two people he cared about were now friends. Big deal. And the fact that Ethan had shared things with Morgan that Reid would have preferred he didn't - well, that was in the past. Ethan had been confused and hurting and Reid had forgiven it already. He wasn't going to go back down that road. He needed to calm down. Whatever the two found in common, it was great. It really was. He'd ask Morgan about the trip Monday, and it would be fine. He'd call Ethan this evening and it would be fine.

This evening. His thoughts went to Elle. This afternoon in the park . . . that terrible conversation. Before the thing with Morgan, he had already been a mess all afternoon. Her news had shaken him badly. The thought that a child would come into this life - a life that was already so hard - with _his_ legacy, was nearly unbearable for him. It wasn't just the schizophrenia. It was all of it. He was so . . . flawed. His life was so flawed, as if there had been some mistake made from the beginning of it. He was afraid that the nature of that mistake was something that flowed in his veins. He wouldn't pass that on. He couldn't. He would have to make her understand why this just couldn't happen.


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter Ten_

Elle moaned when she heard the sound of a motor pull into the drive. She looked at the clock in the parlor. It was only 8:00 pm, but she was tired. Very tired. The drive to Quantico and back had been exhausting - and she seemed to have little energy to begin with nowadays. This pregnancy was taking it out of her. She had curled up on the sofa with a book, a blanket and a cup of tea and had planned to go to bed very early, as soon as it started to look dark outside.

She got up and crossed to the window and lifted the edge of the curtain to look out. "Reid!" His funky vintage car was pulling up to the front porch. "Oh my god," she muttered and went to open the front door.

He stood on the porch, his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. He peered at her through his bangs for a few moments without speaking, and then brushed them behind his ear and looked at the porch.

"Reid, what the hell?" She smirked, and then, "Come on," she said and turned to lead him into the house.

She sensed him following obediently behind her, and she had begun to head for the kitchen to make more tea, when he grabbed her wrist gently. "Elle. . . "

Not feeling the patience right then to argue, she turned around quickly to tell him to shut up and let her at least make tea before he started in on her, but then she saw him slowly sink to his knees. He put his hands on her hips, and looked up at her. He was calm, his eyes regarding hers steadily.

"Elle," he said and shook his head from side to side slowly, "Please don't do this. _Please_."

"God Reid, what the fuck are you doing? Get up. Don't be so dramatic." She stepped back from him, finding it slightly difficult to disengage from his eyes, and headed to the kitchen. "Go sit down or something."

As she fumbled with two more teabags and took a clean mug down from the cupboard, she could hear his footsteps creak on the floor as he went into the parlor. She sighed and stood by the microwave, waiting for the water to boil and trying to think of just the thing to say to him to get his mind off this fixation and send him on his merry way back to Quantico. And no one could fixate quite like Reid, she remembered that very well.

When she entered the room with his tea he was sitting quietly on the sofa, his hands in his lap. He didn't meet her eyes. She set his tea on the end table beside him and curled up at he other end of the sofa. She sensed his embarrassment at his earlier display. "Good try in there, by the way. But kind of extreme. You want to just talk like a normal person now?" She smiled to ease his tension but he didn't look up to see it.

She listened to the tick-tock of the antique wall clock and thought how ridiculous he could be. It wasn't as if he was going to change anything. He had driven all the way down here - over an hour from Quantico - and would be turning around and driving back again tonight, all because he didn't stop to think how obsessive he was being. He wasn't going to change her mind - he knew her and he should realize that.

"Reid . . ."

Then his voice came very softly, surprising her. "When I was ten, I was making dinner one night. I could do it all by then - cooking. I got some oil too close to the gas fire and it kind of blew up a little, and it lighted a towel. I sort of panicked, and I threw water all over. There was smoke. The fire alarm went off and I didn't know how to stop it. It was so loud, and I didn't know what to do to stop it. I climbed up on a chair, and getting close to it was so deafening, you know. And then I found out I couldn't reach it. So I got down and went and got something - I don't remember, it was a spatula or something - and I climbed up and I just . . . gave it a whack. I broke it. It finally stopped. She didn't even come out of her room. I think that alarm was non-functional until I was in my teens and could reach it to fix it."

He sniffed and fidgeted where he sat. "I was ten, Elle. TEN!" He looked at her, his eyes shining in the lamplight.

She cocked her head to the side. "Reid. . ."

"And that night I lay in bed and realized that I wasn't _safe_, you know? I was not _going_ to be safe. I was a little kid and there was no one to take care of me. I couldn't tell anyone because they would take her away."

Elle started to speak but found that she wasn't certain what to say.

"When I was thirteen, there was an incident. . . " He cleared his throat and looked toward the opposite wall so that she couldn't see his face. "The jocks at school - a lot of them - they, uh, tied me to the goalpost after school. They stripped me down first," he laughed bitterly, "and then tied me up, and then everyone stood there and stared and laughed. No one helped. It was. . . " he shrugged, "maybe six-seven hours before I finally got the rope loosened. I went home, and my mom, she didn't even know I'd been late. She'd had an episode, see, so . . . she wasn't even . . . She didn't have any awareness where I'd been."

Elle put her tea down, finding suddenly that she no longer wanted to drink it. She sensed that he wasn't finished, and she sensed that to interrupt was to rob him of something improtant. So she sat still and waited. He turned his face back to his lap and licked his lips a few times. He ran a hand through his hair. He cleared his throat again.

"I . . . it hasn't been easy. I mean, I know things, I learn things easily, and I know that I should be grateful for that. And I am. But I'm also . . . I'm not like other people. It's been . . . really a solitary existence, Elle. I don't know how to do things, think things like other people do. I annoy people without meaning to. I make a fool of myself every fucking . . . every fucking day! God, there are so many things you don't know . . . so many things I have ruined in my life. Just because I didn't understand how to do things, how to talk to people. I mean, yeah, I can tell you statistics and facts and teach you facts of history and scientific theories and I can solve a puzzle in record time and beat anyone at chess easily - well, except Gideon - but, I can't tell you why I annoy people so much. I have to think about every conversation I have with someone, to figure out whether I sound too much like a geek or not, or whether I am offending when I don't mean to. I never had many friends. Everyone tells me how intelligent I am, and I always felt like such an idiot. I don't tell anyone these things, because I'm ashamed of the way I am. This, Elle, these genes, are what I have to offer a child." She saw him wipe at his face and realized he was crying silently.

"My mom . . . she is brilliant you know? She is. Maybe more than I am. She has more creative intelligence than I ever had. But it is worthless because she is a prisoner of her own mind, her sickness. She lives in a perpetual fantasy, or alternatively she lives in a half-stupor because the drugs she has to take to remain semi-functional - and by that I mean about to feed herself and stop babbling nonsense, banging herself in the head, and screaming at imaginary monsters - those drugs make her semi-aware. They take everything good along with the craziness. This is her existence." Her turned his face toward Elle then, unashamed when he wiped at his eyes again. "This is the blood a baby of ours would have."

Elle looked down at her hands and cleared her throat softly. She looked up again and met his eyes firmly. "You know as well as I do that there is no guarantee that this child would ever suffer from your mother's illness, Reid. A good environment could change everything. We're talking a _grandparent_. You aren't schizophrenic."

"We can't know that! I'm only 30! I could still develop it, Elle." He rose and paced to the window and back, gesturing as he spoke. "I've had headaches for three years, and no one seems to know why. My mom gets headaches too, she always did. I've never said it out loud, but I'm scared. I could end up like my mom."

Elle rose and walked to him. She put her hands up to hold his face so that he had to look at her. "You're not thinking clearly here. You aren't." She watched his mind behind his eyes, turning her words this way and that to examine every angle, searching to understand. She had always loved the depth of his eyes, his soul right on the surface, naked.

She took his hand and led him back to the sofa. "Sit." She curled up beside him, her knees resting against his lap. "You are talking about this like it is a decision to be made, Reid. It isn't. This is going to happen. It is going to happen."

"No, please." He looked at her and whispered the words.

"Stop." She took his hand and pressed it between hers. "I'm not scared." She smiled. "I'm not scared at all. I had it different, Reid. I had a mom and dad who were . . . they were great. My dad was killed when I was thirteen, yeah, but before that he was the best dad, the best dad . . . and my _mom_," she laughed, "she was . . . Reid, our kid is going to have a great life. Such a great life. There are going to be lots of reasons why the things you are so scared of are never going to happen. This kid has three grandparents _without_ schizophrenia."

"Or one parent _with_ it," he argued softly.

"Stop it." She scolded and took his hand and placed it over her belly. "This is _real_, Spencer. Part of you is growing in here. Right under your hand."

He looked up at her then, startled to hear her use his first name, and also by the idea that a part of himself was actually growing in there, and looked at his hand where it lay on her. He was breathing through his mouth, eyes wide and unblinking, and she thought to herself with amusement that he looked like a little kid himself. She pulled his head to her and kissed his cheek. "I'm glad you're the father. I'm glad, Reid." She wrapped her arm around his neck. She rested her mouth on his face and whispered, "You know, I see all the good things in you that you don't see."

~~/~~

They sat together and talked for a few hours, her head on his shoulder. Elle forced him to remember and to tell her about the good moments in his childhood - memories of his mother reading to him, telling him fanciful tales of knights and heroes, reading classical novels, plays and poetry. Filling his mind with beautiful ideas that would sustain him through dark days, even to the present. His mother had created for him a fantasy world in which to hide, and that had encouraged in him a will to keep surviving.

Elle told him about her own upbringing - customs her mother brought from her Cuban heritage, values her father gave her. She even confided in him that now that this new life was coming, and she was going to have a responsibility to someone other than herself, she had done some thinking about the bits of religious faith that her parents had adhered to. As was the Cuban custom, she intended to build a shrine there in the house, a place to kneel in peace and prayer, to light a candle. To let the world stop for a few minutes and re-set oneself. She would teach their child to do that - to stop and breathe, and re-set, and to trust in something beyond this world, something good and powerful.

He told her then how he had always loved her toughness, her directness, her unflinching approach to everything she did. "You're . . . you're _feisty_," he grinned, and the way he said the word made her laugh. She was touched that he had thought about those things that he had considered her positive traits, enough to remember them now. She told him that she found him kind and generous of heart and loved the sound of his voice, and that she sometimes stole a glance at him when he didn't know it because he was so pretty to look at - and that made him laugh.

"It's going to be alright, Reid," she whispered into his shoulder and yawned.

"Oh, you're tired. Oh, no! I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry. You need to sleep now. I'll clean up the cups."

"Oh, God. You're going to be a mother hen, aren't you?"

He laughed. "Most likely."

She told him to leave the cups, and took his hand to lead him upstairs to the guest bedroom he had stayed in a few weeks earlier. He climbed into bed exhausted and hoping that he would feel as positive about things in the morning as he had felt after talking with Elle, and he was soon sleeping soundly. He had switched off his phone in the car, knowing that the conversation with Elle would be a challenging one. So he didn't see the calls that were coming in from Ethan as the evening hours had grown later and later.

~~/~~


	11. Chapter 11

_Chapter Eleven_

Ethan frowned slightly and flipped his phone closed. He caught Morgan watching him as he opened his jacket to slip it back inside the pocket. The atmosphere in the busy French restaurant was busy and festive around them, and Ethan was glad to have company this evening, especially the company of a man who had become a trusted friend.

"He still isn't answering?"

"I'm sorry," Ethan said, trying to smile, "I'm not trying to be rude. It's just that I haven't connected with him in a few days. . ."

"No, don't apologize, Man."

The waiter brought two steaming plates of bouillabaise and set them before the two men. "I'm glad you could come down," Ethan said as he picked up a mussel shell with his fingers. "Kind of weird, always talking on the phone, you know?"

"Yeah, it is . . " answered Morgan, letting his eyes linger on Ethan's a few seconds longer than they should have. He picked at a shrimp for a few moments and then ventured, "Ethan, I need to tell you. Uh . . . Reid saw the ticket. My ticket to come down here. It was an accident, I dropped some papers."

Ethan paused momentarily, looking at Morgan. Then he shrugged and went back to his food. "It's okay. So you came down to have some fun in New Orleans. People do it all the time. He knows we're friends."

"Yeah, sure. You're right."

"Nothing is happening he needs to know about."

"No . . ."

"Derrick," Ethan put his fork down and leaned his elbows on the table, "I need you to know, I'm not an asshole. I mean, I told Spencer that I had been with someone and we got past it. I'm not going to screw it up again. I owe him better."

Morgan felt heat in his face and wondered if it was from too much wine. "I appreciate that you didn't say it was me, Man."

"Well, you have to work together. Besides," Ethan stared into Morgan's eyes, "he is your friend."

Morgan wiped his mouth with his napkin. He fiddled with the stem of the wine glass. Ethan picked up the bottle from the other side of the table and refilled Morgan's glass for him.

"Ethan," Morgan began slowly, "I needed to ask you, and I wanted to do it face to face. . . why did it happen? Between us?"

"Are you sorry?"

"No, not at all. . ."

"I'm glad," came Ethan's slow drawl, drawing Morgan in. "I wouldn't want to do you any harm, Derrick Morgan."

After a few minutes of silence, Morgan said, "You didn't answer me."

Ethan sighed. "I'm not sorry either. I was in a bad way that day." He recalled their many late night conversations around his issues with Spencer, "You have been a true friend, Man."

"So it . . . it was comfort," Morgan stated.

"Partly," Ethan was straight forward if anything, and it made Morgan trust him. "But I need you to know that if Spence weren't in my life, you might be. I mean . . . if you even wanted to be."

Morgan stared at him, wondering if there were some hidden hint in the words that he was supposed to get. Ethan laughed, "I mean, don't get me wrong. I am totally with him. I am crazy for him. You know what I would do for him, but . . " his voice softened, as he looked down at his wine glass, "I am not sorry about what happened between us, Derrick. I don't know how to be." He took a large swallow, emptying the glass.

"How have you been," he continued softly. "Have you been okay?"

Morgan knew what Ethan meant. He was asking if their experience together had been something that Morgan had been able to accept and be content with. Ethan knew that Morgan had never been with a man willingly. It moved Morgan to hear Ethan ask after his welfare.

"I'm good, Man. I'm good."

The waiter cleared their plates and Ethan ordered them dessert and cognac, without asking if Derrick wanted it.

"Hey Ethan," Derrick said carefully, "how does it feel? How do you do it?"

Ethan leveled his gaze at Derrick, guessing at what was coming.

"I mean," Derrick continued, "nothing has changed. You told me over a month ago that it hurt you, Man, that he couldn't want you the same way. You said, _I'm so tired of half a relationship_. You said you needed more. So," Morgan cleared his throat, "How have you come to terms with that?"

"I haven't," said Ethan. He nodded and smiled at the waiter as a glass of cognac was put before him. "I haven't Man. But I know I'm not ready to give up either."

_But you will be_, thought Morgan. He understood that Ethan was honoring the boundary he had clearly drawn in their conversations since Ethan's visit to Quantico those weeks ago. But still, it made him angry to think that Ethan was settling. He wished that he could tell Ethan what their time together had meant to him. That he had discovered a whole world, where sex with another human being could actually feel magical and fulfilling even for him. That after decades of living with confusion and lies, the deepest part of his being had finally made some sense to him. That the rest of his life's path would be forever changed for the better because Ethan had dared to touch him. But for now it had to be enough to be sitting across the table from this man whom Morgan had come to see as amazingly compassionate. It had to be enough to remember what it had been like to be touched by him. Reid had no idea how lucky he was.

He raised his glass of cognac toward Ethan. "Whatever happens, Man, I wish for you the happiness you deserve," and as they tasted the warm liquor their eyes met in understanding and spoke words that couldn't be said out loud.

~~/~~

Reid had made an effort to spend every hour he had off from the job on the farm with Elle. Whether a weekend or a few days midweek after a hard case, he had made the trip out to be at her side, an overnight bag always in tow. She loved having him there, and him wanting to be a part of her life. His attempts at manual labor got less comical and more practiced. He had become quite the farmhand. Much to her contentment, he had begged her to teach him the finer points to riding. They had worked long evening hours together in the corral, Reid up on a horse accepting her instructions without argument - his stiffened posture softening as the weeks passed, his eyebrows knit in concentration, forcing his non-athletic body to learn faster, work harder. She laughed to see him developing muscles he didn't even know he had - he usually limped around stiffly the next morning until the day's work had loosened him up again.

Where once he had moved nervously, cautiously, when in close proximity to the horses - keeping one eye on them at all times during conversation with her - he now moved in a practiced but relaxed manner around them. He was careful to walk a wide arc around their behinds, approach them not head-on but from the side, laying on a reassuring hand to alert the horse of his presence, and mimicking Elle's soft manner of greeting. He had begun to ask questions about the business of breeding, and she had found a book on equine genetics, and another exploring details of equine behavior, in his room when she was in tidying up. She had given him a few books on riding, and he had sat up late in the parlor with a yellow outline marker, devouring them. Once she had found him in the barn, his elegant hands expertly braiding a mane and tail in preparation for a show - a skill for which she had practiced many months before being able to do it so well.

Elle found herself looking forward to his visits and to having someone around whom she trusted implicitly and in whom she could confide just about anything that came into her head. After all, once she had sat in a hotel room and told him how it felt to try to heal after being stalked and shot point blank. After that, what could one possibly hide? He had told her more about his ordeals too - she was horrified to hear the details of his torture and his addiction, and after hearing these things her respect for him grew. She found when she looked at him that she could hardly begin to reconcile the picture of the handsome, boyish, bookish man before her with the horrors that he had suffered. She had begun to understand that it was likely that everyone who had ever come into contact with him - including herself - had grossly underestimated his enormous inner strengths.

Their conversation came easy now no matter what the subject - she had to admit to herself that she laughed more with Reid than she ever had with any other person, except maybe her best childhood friend when she was seven years old. Reid was witty when he wanted to be, and funny when he didn't intend to be. He taught her things; she didn't mind when he went on one of his lecturing rambles. He listened to her without complaint, he worked beside her with interest and devotion, and when they turned in at night, he always kissed her cheek and told her how beautiful she looked when pregnant, she smirking a smile at his attempt at chivalry. A few times she had caught his eyes on her stomach, searching for evidence of a bulge. "It will take a few months, Reid, but you'll be the first to know," she had joked, and he had looked away blushing.

~~/~~

"Reid," she said one day as they worked curry combs over the horses, "remember what I told you about the shooting? That I saw something?"

"Yeah," he said slowly, continuing to work. "What about it?"

"Something like that happened a few weeks back."

"You mean now? When?"

"Right after you were first here. When I hired Emilio."

He stopped brushing and looked at her over the back of his horse. "What do you mean? What happened?"

"I was in the kitchen with him. I had just met him. And . . ," she walked around the front of his horse to stand and look at him, "I saw him all bloody and beaten. I saw it as if it were real." She looked at him waiting.

"Did you tell him?" he asked as he went back to brushing.

"No. I spilled coffee all over the place. I'm sure he thought he had come to work for a crazy person."

"What does it mean?" he asked.

Elle studied him quietly, grateful for his absolute lack of questioning her judgment. "I don't know. The two kids were beaten to death, right?"

"Yeah," he stood straight again and looked at her, "the male was strangled. The girl's skull was caved in." He instantly regretted his typical lack of tact as Elle winced at the memory of the two young employees alive. "I'm sorry. . ."

"He beat them, nothing else," she continued. She looked past him into the wall. "I have to wonder if he might be a potential victim. Emilio I mean."

"Well, is he from Roanoke? Worked horse farms there?"

She looked back at Reid, nodding. He was about to say something in response when they heard the sound of a pickup in the drive outside the barn. Elle tossed her curry comb in the bucket and walked outside to meet the visitor.

Reid rubbed a cloth over the horse's coat to remove the last of the loose dirt. He marveled that he so readily believed her: after all, his brain functioned around logic. But this was _Elle_. She was so . . no-nonsensical. Whatever these visions of hers were - and he chuckled to himself at the silliness of the term - she herself took them seriously. He had to as well. He knew her too well to assume she would be given too casually to fantastical theories. He had never thought much about psychic abilities - since science knew next to nothing about it and had studied it only sporadically and non-thoroughly. There was nothing to prove it was real, but really nothing yet to disprove it either. Because these perceptions in question were Elle's, he had resolved to keep an open mind. She had said something about her mother's Cuban roots and it being common in her family. And who knew - perhaps it really was.

But then something about this new revelation disturbed Reid. He had surprised himself as he had grown increasingly protective of Elle. He worked to keep himself in check so that she didn't notice - he instinctively knew that she wouldn't easily accept it or necessarily even appreciate it. Although they had worked hard at this case initially, it had grown cold and Hotch had pulled the team off - at least officially - in order to free them up for more immediate cases. Now, he wondered where the killer was, and if he was still operating. The bodies had been the victims of rage. Rage required a trigger. He had pondered for weeks what that trigger could possibly be, but had found nothing to lead him to a possible answer. He knew that that trigger could reoccur at any time, and because the team had no idea what it was - and who the unsub might be - they were helpless to prevent further violence. This was the part of the job he hated: cold trails, the helpless feeling at not being able to warn or protect the next potential victim. What if . . . he mused, the tool that could change that was an ability that they didn't understand and so dismissed? And ability such as the one Elle believed she might have?

"She is still favoring her front right leg, though," Elle was saying, as she led Dr. Ellington into the barn. He nodded to Reid as they passed. She opened the door of a stall and led out her chestnut filly.

Ellington passed a hand over her right fetlock; he lifted the foot and flexed it. The horse stomped and snorted. "Trot her for me," he said to Elle. She ran the horse in the aisle from one end of the barn to the other and back again, stopping at Brad.

"Well," he said, "it's definitely a splint. You been working her too hard?"

Reid stopped his work to listen harder. He sensed Elle's chafing at the over-familiar question. "No I haven't. You know that. She's a gaited breed - I know it can happen."

"Hmm. It can." Ellington said, unwilling to stop pressing the doubt in Elle's mind. He stooped to feel the leg again.

"Don't work her without splint boots. I'll come out in a few days," he said as he straightened to look at Elle.

"A few weeks," she said, returning his stare. Reid saw the stare and her posture as it straightened, exploiting every inch of height possible. She was digging in her heels.

Ellington shrugged, and picked up his bag. "Call if you need anything." He strode out past Reid, his eyes giving the younger man a once-over as he went by. Elle stood beside her filly, looking at the floor of the barn until they heard the pickup engine start up, the tires rolling away down the drive. Then she led the horse back into the stall.


	12. Chapter 12

_Chapter Twelve_

"What was that about?" asked Reid as they walked back to the house together.

"What?"

"He made you nervous. I could tell."

"He doesn't make me nervous, Reid. He pisses me off."

"Well, why don't you get a different vet?"

She stopped and looked at him, growing irritated with the third degree. She swung open the screen door and stepped inside, leaving him to catch it as it swung back, "Because he is all there is for about eighty miles. Horse vets aren't that common, Reid."

"Oh."

She went into the kitchen and took a pitcher of iced tea out of the refrigerator. "Why do you ask?" she said as she poured them both a glass, not knowing exactly why she wanted to prolong the conversation. But she was curious as to why Reid would be so persistent. And she wanted to soften the tension in the air a little, feeling responsible for creating it.

"Uh. . .I don't know," he took the glass offered to him. "Thanks. I just, Elle, I don't like it that he upset you. I think he was _trying_ to."

"You don't say," she cocked her head at him. "Don't worry about it. I can take care of myself."

"I know." She liked that he said it like he believed it.

So she added by way of explanation, "He used to be a friend. We had a . . . falling out."

"Were you . . .were you lovers?" he asked quietly, avoiding her eyes.

She almost said _that's none of your business, Reid,_ but she held it back. Instead she sipped her iced tea slowly and made him squirm under her gaze. Then she said something she would regret for weeks afterward, "The baby's yours, whether you like it or not."

Reid looked up at her, hurt written in the hazel eyes. He placed his glass in the sink quietly and said, "I'm going out to feed." She watched at the window as he walked out to the barn again alone.

He had been so kind these past months, driving down from Quantico, helping her constantly. He was obviously intent on building a stronger friendship. Why had she wanted to hurt him? Perhaps because she wasn't sure why he was here? Was it because he felt guilty, a sense of duty? She had been telling herself that he was doing the gentlemanly thing being here, that he was behaving the way a good and true friend would behave. But suddenly lately the idea that it was a duty in his mind, that _she_ was his obligation, had grated on her. She didn't need that.

But on the other hand she did want him in his child's life. No matter what his motives were now. Once the baby was here, he would become attached. She knew that. Reid was a good and gentle man, and she could never rob any child of the opportunity to know him in any capacity. Maybe right now, he was just a little misguided. And, she admitted to herself, maybe Brad had upset her and she had taken it out on poor Reid.

She finished her tea and walked out of the house and across the drive to the barn. She found him cutting the twine from the bales. She liked the sight of him in work gloves with a knife, sleeves rolled up, straw in his hair. He didn't look up as she approached and stood there watching him.

"Come on Reid, you know I'm just being hormonal," she smirked, teasing. "It's my prerogative."

"Really," he said, lifting another bale onto the wheelbarrow. "Convenient excuse."

"What do you want me to say?" she smiled.

He tossed the knife onto the bale and crossed to her quickly, startling her by his abruptness. She backed against the wall and looked at him, her eyes growing wider. He stopped close to her face and looked into her eyes. "Say you're sorry," he breathed, holding her gaze. She had seen him angry but few times at the BAU, and never this much. Wow, who knew Reid had a temper.

"God, Reid." She tried to laugh, attempting sarcasm. "Okay, I'm sorry."

But now he was looking down at her, his eyes sweeping her body and landing back up at her face. "What's wrong with you? Why are you shaking?" he demanded.

Her mind scrambled to find an answer. She hardly knew what it was herself, and she felt him waiting for an answer. He was still leaning close to her. His eyes dug into hers again. "Why are you shaking?" he whispered.

He took a step backward then, still looking at her, his mouth slightly open. He frowned. "Did he _hurt_ you?"

"Reid," she said, hating his talent for profiling at that moment. Anyone else would barely have guessed, and would have never thought it was Brad. "It really isn't a big dea..."

"Bullshit," he swore softly, surprising her. "It's a big deal. I don't want you here alone if he is here."

"Stop it Reid." Now she was angry. He was getting all macho on her, just taking over control in the same way Brad had tried to.

"And he shouldn't be making you upset. I don't like him making you upset!"

She was yelling now. "Reid, if you don't shut the fuck up, I'm gonna belt you! Are you crazy? Where do you get off telling me what to do?"

"Where do you get off putting yourself and my child in jeopardy?"

She glared at him. "My God, you've lost your mind," she said, and turned on her heel and left the barn.

Reid stood looking after her, scowling. He blew a lock of hair out of his eyes and sniffed loudly. Then he went back to cutting the twine with a brand new enthusiasm.

~~/~~

Ethan moved his lips slowly along Reid's collarbone, tasting the salty skin. He stroked his hand over Reid's hip and down across his rump, and sighed contentedly. "You sleeping, Spence?"

Spencer laughed low in his throat, his mouth against Ethan's shoulder, "Why, you trying to kill me?"

"I missed you. I missed you." Ethan smiled and held him closer. "You know, the other day I was just sitting around playing the piano, and just _thinking_ about you I got a hard-on."

"Hmmm. Good thing for others in the vicinity you were behind the piano."

"Funny."

Spencer turned his head and kissed Ethan's neck. "I missed you too."

Ethan closed his eyes and breathed Spencer in for a few minutes, enjoying the feeling of his own body after they were together. Sweet exhaustion in every cell. The sensation of being ravaged. Spencer's arms around him. How had he existed for years without this - without touching Spencer?

Things had been good lately. Even the miles between them had not been able to mar the magic. And their times together had been worth the wait. Over time Ethan had learned to be patient with Spencer. He had learned to coax excitement from him slowly, bringing Spencer to a frenzy. Then things got heated, and then Ethan could feel what he pretended was not just physiological response to stimulation, but an actual passion aimed only at himself. Sometimes, if he got a little rough, whispered a few obscenities in Spencer's ear, he could make Spencer get a little rough too, hurt Ethan a little. The small scratches and bruises proved to Ethan the next day that he was desired.

And their words to one another were occasionally tender, always careful. There were no promises from Spencer, and there had been no accusation from Ethan. They had reached a comfortable middle ground where no one could be hurt, and each had to keep a few secrets. That's the way it was. But it was good.

It had felt so safe, that Ethan suddenly felt comfortable enough to ask. He moved his cheek to settle against Spencer's neck and he said, "Spence, where are you lately? When you have time off?"

"Why?" Spencer felt his heartbeat quicken, and Ethan felt it too in Spencer's chest, close to him as he was.

"Uhmm . . . because sometimes I call and you don't answer for a few hours. You seem to be pretty busy on all those days off."

Spencer pulled away and rested his head on one arm, looking at Ethan. "Ethan. . . I should have said something before, but it really doesn't mean anything for us, so I didn't." He licked his lips.

Ethan watched his boyfriend's nervousness and felt a tiny pang of fear in his gut. "What." He heard his voice come out in a whisper.

"I, uh, I've been spending time at Elle's farm."

"With _her_? Why?" He wasn't whispering now.

"No, Ethan. It isn't anything like that. I stay there, but I have my own room. I help her work on the farm."

Ethan didn't say anything, his hard stare leveled at Reid, bracing for worse. Reid saw the worry in Ethan's eyes and reached to stroke his face, but Ethan flinched slightly and Reid hesitated. "It's nothing like that, I swear it," he whispered again. He reached again for Ethan, and stroked Ethan's mouth with the back of his fingers. "I don't . . . I would never do that again to you. I just want to be with you. I just want you."

He watched Ethan until he saw the tension in his lover's body leave again, the dark eyes grow softer. Then he kissed Ethan's mouth with as much tenderness as he could muster. He leaned his forehead against Ethan's and lay there stroking his arm and back for a time. Then he said quietly, "Ethan, she's pregnant. It's mine."

Ethan leaned back and raised his eyes again to Spencer's. "What?" he said, disbelief dripping in his words. Spencer looked away from his gaze.

"How could you let that happen?" Ethan accused. "You didn't even take any precaution? How could you do that?"

When moments ticked by and Spencer had no answer to what Ethan thought was a terribly reasonable question, Ethan got up and grabbed his robe from the end of the bed. He picked up a spare pillow off the nearby chair and threw it hard at Spencer, and then slammed the door as he left the room.

Spencer sat cross-legged in the center of the bed for a time, wanting to go to Ethan and make it right, but knowing instinctively that he needed to give him time to cool down. In truth, he had no answer to the question. He had just assumed that Elle - strong-willed, independent, together Elle - would have it taken care of. Maybe she had, and birth control had failed. It happened. He really didn't know why it had happened. But it was true that he hadn't used anything. He hadn't thought to. He didn't sleep around - he'd never used a condom in his life. He didn't even carry them for Heaven's sake.

But now Ethan was hurt, and it was understandable. It must be a lot to digest, Spencer considered, to realize that he had impregnated a woman he had cheated on Ethan with, even if it had been once and a mistake and they had put it past them now. Or had tried to, until this evening. After a time he got up, pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, opened the door quietly and padded down the hall. Ethan was in the kitchen, his back leaning against the counter, a glass of bourbon in his hand.

Spencer stood in the doorway helplessly and watched Ethan for several minutes, as Ethan gazed out a window and pretended that Spencer wasn't standing there. Finally, Spencer walked to Ethan and gently took the glass and set it on the counter. He wrapped his arms around Ethan, nuzzling his face into the side of Ethan's neck. "It doesn't matter, you know," he said. "I am with you. That doesn't change."

"This is a _bond_ Spencer. This is a bond that will be between you and this woman for the rest of your fucking life." Spencer heard Ethan inhale sharply and knew that he was fighting tears. "The rest of your fucking _life_, Man."

_I should tell you, you bastard_, thought Ethan bitterly. _I could tell you something that would rock your world_. But standing there, feeling Spencer's breath against his neck, Spencer's arms tight around him, he still couldn't bear to hurt him.

~~/~~


	13. Chapter 13

_Chapter Thirteen  
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"All the forensics is back on the case in Charlottesville," Hotch waited while J.J. distributed the forensics reports to the agents sitting around the conference room round table. "Hair samples on victims from Palmyra, skin samples from a victim in Gordonsville, and more skin samples from one of the victims on Elle's farm in Louisa. All from the same unsub. It's conclusive."

"But we have no match on the unsub," said Prentiss.

"No, no matches in any database."

"But we know it's the same killer, and that could be a lot of information," observed Reid as he skimmed the details of the report, "The skin was found under the nails of three different victims in two different locations. They were fighting for their lives."

"This has to be a _man_, for there to have been a close physical struggle so many times, where he overpowered the victims," Morgan looked up at the others.

"He has to be a big man, and strong," added Rossi.

"Most likely fairly young too," Reid chimed in.

Prentiss reviewed, "The common denominators are that all are under 25, all came from the Richmond area, all worked in some capacity with horses both there and in the new location."

"We need to go to Richmond and poke around," said Hotch. "This is a quiet week so far, I need two of you to go down there and see what you can learn. Morgan, take Reid and do some digging."

Hotch watched Morgan exhale quietly and look at Reid across the table. Reid glanced at him and down again, avoiding eye contact. Going to Richmond for the day would be good for them, thought Hotch. They would have to hash it out, get through it, and stop this hostility. Hotch didn't know what the problem between the two of them was, but he was running out of patience. It was hurting team morale, and it was going to have to end.

~~/~~

Elle watched Emilio drive up the lane. He had shown himself to be a good worker, and his presence had not only eased the work burden she felt after the murders, but he had added some life around the place. Esteban had hit it off with him quickly, taking him under his wing like a son. She had nearly forgotten the vision she had the first day he came. She didn't trust it anyway; she had had such visions from childhood, and sometimes they never made sense - that was just the nature of it.

Everything had been calm and easy around the farm, and she was feeling more energy. Reid had been absent for two and a half weeks now. He had called twice, saying that the caseload was keeping him away, apologizing. But a part of her wondered if he was tired of it all - tired of trying to act like he was happy about it. She would rather he stay away if he couldn't accept the reality that she was going to have his baby. She didn't need the negativity. She had come to a time in her life where everything was so good, so right, like the pieces were finally starting to fit. She didn't need Reid to screw with her mind, or with her child's either.

She knew that Reid's own father had left when he was very young. After that he had nothing to do with the boy or his mother. Elle knew that this was the example that Reid had of fatherhood. She wasn't sure how one could acquire a different mindset after having such a role model and then having no other, really. Irresponsible fatherhood was all Reid ever knew.

Except maybe Gideon: Gideon had treated Reid like a son, constantly guiding and mentoring. It had been pretty annoying to the rest of the team at the time - to watch Gideon take the time and energy to hold Reid's hand, but they hadn't heard Reid's story yet then. Only Gideon knew the gaps that had to be filled in Reid's lack of positive guidance . And then, he had left Reid too without a goodbye. When she had heard, she had scarcely been able to believe it. Gideon had been a calm in the storm for all of them, but most especially their youngest. Reid had told her about how it had happened - how one day Gideon was just gone, and Reid had gone to his cabin to find a note - and the lease to the cabin, for Reid. Gideon, who had been the rock, was in the end the most breakable.

Poor Reid. She couldn't hate him for being confused; he couldn't learn to be what he never saw modeled. The fact that he had tried to be there for her was already touching. But she was going to have to draw some boundaries or he would hurt her. She couldn't expect too much from him. And she couldn't afford to make mistakes herself; she had someone else's welfare to think about now.

Emilio came into the barn lugging two large canisters of equine supplements. "Senora, I found us a better supplier for the hay. Less expensive. I hear the quality is good, but I will go on Saturday to check it."

"That would be great. Good work. You didn't have to shop around - I could do that." She smiled at him as she leaned against an open stall, holding a rake.

He removed his hat and wiped at his brow. "I know, forgive me. But this man I knew in Richmond. He is a good man, he will be fair."

"It's fine, Emilio. I appreciate your taking the initiative to shop around. Go see him Saturday then. Why don't you take the afternoon off now, to make up for your time on Saturday." Elle walked away and turned back into the stall in which she was raking. But she soon felt Emilio's presence behind her. He stood at the door of the stall, his hat still in his hands.

"Yes, Emilio?"

"Uh, Senora, it's true that Dr. Ellington is coming soon?" He looked down at his hat, turning it in his hands. Elle wondered what on earth he was nervous about.

"Yes, he'll be here this afternoon. Why?"

"Senor Reid, he told me to be here with you if Dr. Ellington comes."

Elle stood and looked at him. She took a deep breath, and let it go, breathing out her anger. "Sen . . Dr. Reid doesn't run this farm. I do."

"Yes Ma'am," Emilio said quietly. "But Dr. Reid said you would say this. I am still to stay with you. It's okay Senora, I don't mind. I have some work to do - I seen some thistle taking hold in the north pasture." Before she could protest, he quietly walked away from the stall door and out of the barn.

"Dammit Reid," she swore. She didn't like his talking to Emilio behind her back, insinuating that she couldn't protect herself to her own employee. She determined that she would give him a piece of her mind when and if he finally showed up.

Meanwhile, she had Brad to deal with, and that was increasingly difficult too. He went out of his way to insult her, intimidate her, dropping hints that she needed him around full time. Why had she started anything with him anyway? He was attractive, to be sure, in that swaggering macho way he had. He could be funny, interesting. But as she got to know him she found out he couldn't be kind without it being condescending somehow, as if it were always connected with his calling attention to it. As if kindness were always a favor he was doing, and she always had a feeling he would eventually call on her payment for it. She knew, that when she had ended up in bed with Reid, it was because of his kindness. Reid had a wonderfully genuine, innocent quality that had always drawn her. With Brad messing with her mind, Reid's presence had been such a relief, and a temptation.

Now Reid was right, Brad did make her nervous and she hated it every time she had to call his office for help, every time he made a visit. She tried to make it about the horse, while he fought her every minute to make it about her, and her supposed inadequacies.

The funny part was, Brad hadn't guessed that Reid was the father. He had been distantly, somewhat coldly polite to Reid the few times they had met. Elle got a feeling that Brad thought any man without considerable brawn wasn't a man at all. He probably saw Reid as a kid, inconsequential. It made her laugh. After all, as she had told Brad, Reid was ten times the man Brad could ever be. And Brad behaved even now as if he assumed that he himself was truly the father, as if it were incomprehensible that another man had been desired above himself.

Just lately, she had begun to be uncomfortable enough around Brad that she carried a gun whenever she worked in the barn. Since the murders, she had kept her gun nearby at night as well. As ridiculous as it was, it made her calmer. After Brad had hit her, everything had changed. He had stepped up his game to wear her down, and she had stepped up her game to protect herself. It was crazy that she had to walk around her own barn with a gun because there wasn't any veterinarian available for miles that would treat her with some respect. Why couldn't the men in her life just be a little less controlling? It was infuriating.

She wheeled the cart of clean straw into the stall and dumped it onto the floor. As she spread it around with the rake, she had to admit to herself that she was glad Reid had instructed Emilio to stick around when Brad was visiting. But she certainly didn't have to tell Reid that.

~~/~~

"So you want to start with feed stores?" Reid had tried to make small talk during the drive all the way from Quantico, and for the most part Morgan had reciprocated. But the tension still remained in the air between them, and after an hour of riding it was giving Reid a headache.

"How about breeders?" Morgan suggested.

"Yeah, that would be good. There are probably a lot of them though."

"Man, I just don't know where to begin with this. What's the connection? I mean, we are thinking horses, but what if it's something else?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know."

Hotch was right. Passing the day together broke the ice between the two former friends. Having a common task allowed each to enjoy the other's company without having to enter dangerous conversational territory. When late afternoon came, the ride home together didn't seem such a frightening prospect.

They had climbed into the car after the last interview at a breeding farm, and Morgan had turned the ignition key to fire the engine, when the owner of the farm ran out to stop them.

"Hey," Morgan greeted her as he rolled down the window.

"I just thought of something," the woman said. She reset her hat on her head, thinking. "You're talking maybe ten years ago, but there was a breeder here who isn't now. He gave a lot of riding lessons to kids and teenagers. Some of those kids were pretty serious horsepeople. Some went on to study, some went to work on farms. Does that mean anything?"

Morgan thought about taking out his notebook, but then remembered that Reid's mind was all they needed to remember details of the conversation. He glanced at Reid and back at the breeder. "You said this was ten years ago, Ma'am?"

"Well, about that. Maybe twelve."

"Do you recall his name?"

"Yeah, Charles Reilly. His farm was north of town about twelve miles. He bred Tennessee Walkers. Taught riding, jumping. He was a decent rider too."

"Thank you, Ma'am, you've been very helpful."

Suddenly Reid leaned toward Morgan to make eye contact with the woman, "Uh, do you remember why he left?"

"Sure do. He had a daughter that had an accident and died. Things took a bad turn after that. I don't remember a lot about it. His wife left him, and he sold the place and left."

"Is his wife still around?" asked Reid.

"She lives in Ashland; she grew up there. Her name is Mayford. . .Sarah."

"Ma'am," said Morgan, handing her his notebook and a pencil. "This is very important. I need you to write down the names of every kid you can remember who took a lesson there."

~~/~~

"So why did you ask for names? We don't even know if this is the right trail," Reid fell into step beside Morgan as they walked up to the house at 265 Spruce Street, where Sarah Mayford was living.

"Had a feeling, that's all. Better than to have to ask for the names later," said Morgan.

Ashford was just outside of Richmond, right on the way back to Quantico. Reid had already phoned Sarah and warned her of their visit. She had been reticent on the phone, and when she opened the door, there was no warmth in her greeting.

"You might as well come in," she said.

Reid raised an eyebrow briefly to Morgan, and they entered.

They had barely sat down when Sarah said, "I suppose this is something about Charlie?"

"Actually, Ma'am it is. We are wondering if you can tell us more about what happened after your daughter's death," said Reid.

"We appreciate that this is an uncomfortable subject for you to revisit," Morgan rushed to soothe her, "but it might be very important for an investigation."

"Well, I can't imagine how," Sarah said, looking from Reid to Morgan. "That was nine years ago. I haven't seen Charlie since. I don't know what I could tell you."

"He, uh, taught riding . . ." Reid began.

"Yes, he did. He was a good rider too. And the kids liked him."

"And he stopped and left?" prompted Morgan.

"He didn't want to be around them anymore."

"Be around who?"

Sarah smirked, and waited several seconds to collect her thoughts. "Those kids. Some of them were there when she had the accident." She tilted her chin up and her jaw quivered. "Charlie thought they caused it, you know."

"What happened to her Ms. Mayford?" Reid asked quietly.

"She fell out of a barn window, broke her neck. It was a party. Drinkin'." She looked at Morgan, "But my girl wasn't drinkin'. Coroner said so."

"And your husband didn't think it was an accident?"

"No, he didn't. He got real mad about it, but the police said it was an accident and there was nothing they could do unless some kid said otherwise, which they never did."

Reid looked at Morgan, knowing they had what they needed. "Your husband . . . Charlie changed after that?"

Sarah shrugged, "I couldn't live with him anymore. It was all he thought about. He wouldn't let go of it."

"Ma'am, where is Charlie now?"

"No idea, don't care."

~~/~~

Morgan and Reid had reviewed the day on the way back. The information gleaned about Charles Reilly looked promising. Reid called Garcia and asked her to trace the whereabouts of the man after he sold the farm outside Richmond. He gave her the names of the students on the notepad and asked her to compare them to the names of the murder victims. "This might be our unsub, Reid," enthused Morgan.

They were ten minutes from the BAU offices when Morgan brought it up. "So . . Elle is pregnant?"

"Yeah," Reid laughed softly, "She is."

"Wow, Kid. Didn't know you had it in you," teased Morgan.

_You heard it from Ethan,_ Reid realized in the next breath. _He didn't waste time._ He said, "Uh . . it has been a little tough for Ethan."

"Yeah, he told me. It does change a lot of things I guess." Morgan knew he was being adventurous, but the mood in the car wasn't heavy, and being with Reid felt more comfortable than it had been in many weeks.

"I know," Reid watched the traffic out the window, "I know. But I told him it doesn't have to change anything with he and I. It doesn't. I'll just. . have a kid I guess." They were quiet for a time, and then Reid added, "Maybe someday the kid will come and visit me and Ethan on weekends," and he laughed to himself.

"Yeah, I guess so." Morgan had tried hard to accept that Ethan wanted to be with Reid, at least for the present. He couldn't argue that Ethan's feelings for Reid were deep - they pounded Morgan through the phone lines every time they spoke. Morgan held the private belief that in time those feelings would change, that Ethan would finally realize that life with Reid was never going to be enough. And meanwhile, Ethan had been instrumental in Morgan discovering a part of himself that needed uncovering. Morgan needed time to adjust to the idea that he had found more in the arms of a man, that he had in fifteen years of chasing women - it was a lot to digest and the time was good for him. He wasn't happy with the way things were exactly, but he was finding some way to be content for the present. After all, Ethan considered him a friend and confidant; they were in constant touch, getting to know one another well. And now, after today, Morgan's friendship with Reid would be back on track too.

"Hey Man," he said as he pulled into the parking garage at the BAU. "I'm glad you and Ethan are doing okay now. He's. . . he's a great guy."

"Yeah," Reid said cautiously as he got out of the car, and watched as Morgan clicked his keychain to lock the car, "I guess you two are good friends now."

Morgan stopped and looked at him across the car. "I hope that's cool."

"Uh, sure. You're my friend, he's my . . . well, why not? I guess you got to know each other pretty well when I was . . . you know, sick."

_You can't even say it. He's your lover, and you can't even give him that._ "Yeah, we did. We almost lost you, Kiddo. It was hard on both of us." They walked together toward the elevators.

"Uh, I understand," Reid tried to laugh casually, "You bonded."

Morgan stepped into the elevator behind Reid and pushed the second floor. "I'm sorry about, you know, when he visited. It was just that time. It never happened again."

Suddenly, Reid stepped forward and hit the stop button. He turned to stare into Morgan's eyes. "What did you say?"

_Oh God._ Morgan's mind was racing - why did he say it? He had been thinking that Ethan said he _told_ Reid, didn't he? But no. He didn't tell Reid that it was Morgan himself. How could he have done this? How was he so stupid? He stared back at Reid, searching frantically for words.

But then he found himself against the cold steel of the wall. Reid - whom Morgan had never seen assault anyone, even when he should have - was leaning hard against him, hands gripping the collar of Morgan's jacket, hissing inches from his face, "What did you say to me?"

"Reid," Morgan unconsciously raised his arms to signal surrender, "I'm sorry, I thought you knew. It was once. Once."

Reid's eyes flitted quickly from one to the other of Morgan's eyes - flashing, intense, furious. He pushed Morgan again, bouncing him against the wall, and then he let go of him and turned to release the stop button. Before Morgan could gather his thoughts, the doors were open and Reid was striding away down the corridor.

~~/~~


	14. Chapter 14

_Chapter Fourteen_

On Friday Reid did something he hadn't done since beginning at the BAU seven years earlier: he called in sick without actually being ill. At least not physically. He had called Hotch at 5:30 am, made the excuse, and then he packed a bag to go to Elle's.

Four times he had dialed Ethan's cell phone. Four times he had hung up again before the second ring. He wanted to tell Ethan he knew the dirty secret. He wanted to tell him how betrayed he felt. But he was too angry to trust himself to even make sense. He thought that Ethan didn't deserve to even hear his voice, not after this. He didn't think about what that meant for the future - he couldn't bring himself to think about the future. All he knew was that he didn't want to have to be at work and pretend all was normal, he didn't want to be in the same room with Morgan, and he wanted to get out of town to the peace of the farm.

He had received one call from Morgan and ignored it. He didn't care if the friendship ended. This betrayal must be, if anything could be, unforgivable. What sort of person did this to a friend? Morgan had known how deep the bond between Ethan and Reid ran - he had witnessed it first hand. And he had known what it took for Reid to come back from the brink, how he couldn't have done it without Ethan's devotion. What was he trying to do - to get between them? Couldn't he have said "no"? If he were truly a friend to Reid himself and to Ethan, couldn't he have turned down sex with Ethan and put him back on track? How hard was that? _Morgan never knew the meaning of friendship_, Reid thought bitterly to himself. And once again, as had happened so many times in his life, he had given his trust to have it thrown in his face. He had thought that finally he had found a place to be safe in, that his family at the BAU was the foundation of which his earlier life had been deprived. But now, he was back at the beginning, as vulnerable and distrustful as he had felt on that first day when he walked into the Bureau seven years ago, not knowing whom to trust, not trusting his own instincts. Back into that solitary place in his mind in which he had lived for most of his years.

He reminded himself that the cheating had gone both ways - both he and Ethan had stepped over that line. But they had both confessed it and made amends. They had both tried to renew the bond. Reid had thought that they were successful. He had put his faith in the relationship as never before, for Ethan's sake. Because Ethan loved him. Because he _thought_ Ethan loved him. But now everything was called into question: Reid didn't know what had been real anymore, and that was the thing that was tearing at him the most.

Reid went into the kitchen and poured the remains of the coffee in the pot into his thermos. He looked around the living room, picked up his jacket and checked for his wallet and phone. He was reaching for his bag when a knock came on the door. He jumped, startled at the sound, his mind flying to Morgan's face. But no, Morgan was safe at work about now, so he couldn't be here. Reid exhaled slowly and opened the door.

Ethan's face told Reid that he hadn't slept. His eyes were red-rimmed. Reid guessed that he had taken a red-eye from New Orleans. He looked as though he had aged ten years in the two weeks since Reid had seen him. "Spencer." His exhausted appearance and his hesitance to step toward Reid told him that Morgan had already told him his mistake.

Reid braced himself, blocking the doorway, bag in hand. "What the hell do you want?" He felt his jaw shaking.

"Where are you going?" Ethan's voice was frightened, flat.

Spencer moved to walk around him, but Ethan grabbed him by the arm and shoved him back inside. He pinned him against he wall and kissed him roughly, in desperation. "Listen to me!"

"Get off!" Spencer pushed him, struggling to throw him back.

Ethan pinned him harder against the wall. "Spencer! Stop!"

"I don't want to listen!" Screamed Spencer. He was crying now. "I don't want to hear it!"

Ethan looked back momentarily to kick the door closed. All they needed was some nosy neighbor coming to investigate the noise. He took his eyes off Reid long enough for Reid to knee him hard in the groin. "I said get the fuck off!"

Ethan stumbled back, gasping for air against the pain. "Dammit, Spencer..."

Spencer stared for a few moments at his boyfriend doubled over, then he picked up the bag again and reached for the door handle. But Ethan used the last iota of remaining strength and gumption to toss Spencer away from the door. Reid tripped lightly and fell against the wall. In exasperation he threw the bag at Ethan, hitting him squarely.

Both winded, they stood and looked at each other, heaving heavily, Spencer crying unabashedly. Finally he spoke, "I don't want to hear it," he grimaced at Ethan, eyes pleading. He wiped at his eyes with both hands. "I don't care why you did it. You did it."

"Spencer, I told you I'd been with someone. . ."

"You didn't say it was _Morgan_!" Spencer turned on his heel and walked away from Ethan into the living room.

Ethan followed, to find Spencer pacing frantically back and forth, "He was my _friend_!" Spencer sputtered, gesturing into the air for emphasis. "I don't have many friends!"

"So was I, Babe. So am I." Ethan stood with his hands in his pockets, speaking lowly, watching Spencer work out the energy.

"You've got to be kidding!" Spencer shouted. Then he said coldly, "I don't know what you are exactly, but you are _not_ my friend." He saw a split moment of hurt flicker through Ethan's eyes and was instantly sorry. Reid knew that Ethan had given him an enormous piece of himself, and had done for Reid what few friends would have done, apart from them becoming lovers. He knew that his words were not deserved.

Spencer stopped pacing and sat on the sofa, his head in his hands. "Ah .. " he said, crying out the confusion. He wiped his face on his sleeve and sniffled loudly. "I don't know how to understand this. I can't. How could you . . . you said you _loved_ me and you did the things for me that you did. But then you did _this_. You took away someone I trusted and called a friend. And for what?" Spencer looked up at Ethan, his eyes overflowing, "For what? So you could have some fun? Get back at me? I don't understand!"

Ethan slowly crossed to the sofa and prepared to sit beside Spencer.

"Don't touch me!" yelled Spencer and stood up. He walked to the window and stood looking out, his arms crossed. "Just don't touch me," he whispered.

For a long while they were quiet, each wrestling with his own racing thoughts. The minutes passed and the silence was punctuated only by the soft sound of Spencer crying. Ethan sat on the sofa, his elbows on his knees, his head down. Once he wiped his eyes. Once he watched Spencer's back, studying him, and as he did there was no anger in his eyes.

Finally Ethan spoke, slowly. "I have often these days lain awake and thought about us. My first thought is always that no matter how we mess this up, where we go, whether we are together . . . that I . . " Spencer heard Ethan choke, and turned quickly to look at him, having never heard Ethan choke on his words in all the years he had known him. Ethan breathed in deeply, composing himself, staring at the floor between his feet. "That I will never again love someone like this . . . as much as I do you."

Spencer stared at Ethan, surprised by the display of emotion. That was generally Spencer's role. He pressed his fingers into his eyes, willing himself to stop sniveling.

"But, Spence," Ethan continued softly, "I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to keep trying to tell myself it's okay that you will never . . .want me really. Not like I need you to."

Spencer shifted uncomfortably on his feet, not knowing how to respond. Ethan looked up at him, "I'm not blaming you. I'm telling you a fact, Man. I'm not good at this. I want to be, but I'm not."

Spencer looked past Ethan into the hallway, at nothing, and said, "So what does this have to do with Morgan? Morgan isn't gay."

Ethan laughed. "You sure about that? Because Morgan isn't." He allowed Reid a moment to digest, then added, "I feel something for him, Man. It wasn't just about fun, or about hurting you, Spence. I felt it. I was confused, it was a mistake. And I came back to _you_. Like you came back to me."

Spencer slid down to the floor, sitting cross-legged. "I keep thinking," he said softly, "about when I was at Elle's and I kept calling you. Were you . . . talking to Morgan?"

"Yeah, probably."

"And. . . when you were late, when you came here to see me? You were there? With him? You lied and said you were with a guy on business. . ."

Ethan winced. Yes, the lie had been premeditated, deliberate. Spencer continued, "And . . .he went to New Orleans. To see you."

When Ethan didn't answer, Spencer added, "It's like my mind is just trying to make sense of all these minute details. Important details. So that I can just . . . begin to understand how this happened. What I missed." He rocked himself, arms across his chest, and thought to himself for a bit. And then he said softly, "How did this get so complicated? I mean . . .it was good. It was so good that I stayed with it, I gave it everything I could have. In the beginning, it felt so good. And now . . . it's just so messed up. . ."

Ethan got up and went to Spencer, and sat down slowly beside him on the floor. "You didn't do anything wrong, Spence."

Spencer whispered, "If I can't make sense of the details, how do I . . . how do I trust anyone again?" He looked at Ethan.

Ethan pulled Spencer into his arms. He buried his face in the sweet feel of Spencer's hair, and listened to Spencer's breathing. "You have to forgive Morgan."

"No I don't." Ethan felt Spencer's body tense.

"Spencer, he has his own demons to fight. You don't know, Man."

Ignoring the statement, Spencer said, "I'm so sorry, about Elle. But I can't say I'm sorry about the pregnancy, Ethan. It's my . . "

"I know," Ethan interrupted him. "I know. You can't be sorry about that. You have to be happy. Man, you're gonna have a _kid_. Can you imagine that?"

Spencer reached his arms around Ethan's waist, and sighed, his head on Ethan's shoulder. "What are we going to do now? What do you want to do?"

Ethan thought for a minute, considering. He considered the scent of Spencer, and the sound of his breathing. He considered trying to do without ever feeling Spencer's arms around him like they were at that moment. He considered how terrified he had been in the days when they were struggling with Spencer's addiction, that Spencer wouldn't be able to find his way back. He considered the memories he carried of the intimate times they had shared. He considered Morgan. And then he said one of the hardest things he had ever said, "I have to take some time to see what I need, Baby."

~~/~~

Hotch noted that Morgan was distracted. Morgan read through his scribbled notes quickly and told the team what he and Reid had uncovered the day before during the trip down to Richmond, with a total lack of enthusiasm. "So that's it. Charles Reilly looks good for our unsub, but he has disappeared off the radar."

"This fits the profile of a "Simmering Murderer" said Rossi. "He kills because of built-up frustration over real or imagined injustices. One big injustice triggers the murder, or multiple murders. . ."

"He plans carefully, and as the plan reaches fruition he stops talking about the injustice," mused Prentiss. "He would be smart, calculating."

"He wouldn't have stopped," said Hotch. "He'd still be killing because he still believes in the injustice."

"The target might have been law enforcement, the system that let him down," added Rossi, "but maybe the more immediate target here is the kids who were with the daughter at the time of the death."

"Yeah, especially if he believes they actually pushed her," said Prentiss.

"Garcia. . ." began Hotch.

"On it, Sir. I'm checking for land purchases first, starting with Charlottesville and working outward from there. . ."

"What about land leases," offered Rossi, "If he wants to hide he might have the presence of mind to keep his name out of legal documents, like property titles or any records of mortgages."

"Okay, let's see what Garcia can find. The rest of you keep thinking on it." Hotch's dismissal was no sooner spoken than Morgan was out of the room, flipping open his phone as he walked.

~~/~~


	15. Chapter 15

_Chapter Fifteen_

Ethan reached over to the bedside table and switched off his phone to keep it from sounding every five minutes. It was Morgan - he knew it and he knew Spencer knew it. But for this moment, he didn't care.

It was as if they were trying to give one another a last dance before closing time at the club. Each moved over the other's body slowly and carefully and with a full heart, each trying to remind himself and his lover why they had become indispensable to one another. All the memories flowed in the silence between them: nights when they had barely made it inside the apartment door before falling into one another; times when they had lay talking and laughing, kindred spirits; the sweet joy of anticipation after weeks of separation as one waited for the other's plane to come in.

After a time Ethan relaxed and lay on his stomach. Spencer moved his lips over his neck and whispered in Ethan's ear about how beautiful he found his body. He ran Ethan's dark curls through his hands and marveled at them as if he had never really seen them before. Spencer kissed his back slowly, taking in every curve and kissed his buttocks. Then he rolled Ethan over and kissed his mouth deeply and slowly, proving the depth of his affection. When he took Ethan's cock into his hand, he kissed it over thoroughly before licking it along its length before taking it into his mouth. He knew now, how to do it just right, so that it would make Ethan shake and cry out and beg, and he performed the dance with a vengeance, feeling as if he had the privilege of giving a gift. He had begun to lose himself in the feeling of Ethan's cock filling his mouth when he heard it: silence. There was no moan, no writhing under his touch, no calling his name. There was nothing.

As Spencer looked up at Ethan's face he felt Ethan go soft in his mouth. He stretched the length of his lover's body and lay close to him, saying, "It's okay, don't worry about it." But it wasn't okay at all. Spencer felt his stomach churn and a cold sweat creep around his bare shoulders. He could feel Ethan's embarrassment and ached to convince Ethan that it didn't matter; at the same time he was ashamed of his own inadequacy in stimulating his lover. He thought about taking Ethan's cock in his hand to try to make it hard again, but was afraid to: if it didn't work, the tension in the room would be ten times more unbearable. He let his eyes sweep over the body he had come to know well, taking momentary comfort in its familiarity. Suddenly he had the startling thought that he was undeserving of the familiarity and that he would never know the feeling again of being ravaged to the core by Ethan, that he had experienced those fierce, heated, desperate, passionate fuckings Ethan gave him for the last time. And the thought made him desolate.

Ethan lay with his eyes closed, not speaking. Finally, Spencer rose and pulled on his trousers and socks. He was buttoning his shirt as he watched Ethan turn over toward the wall. Spencer could feel Ethan's his despair in the silence of the room, and he ached to get out, away from the room, the apartment, the city, this evidence of their tragedy. He shrugged on his cardigan and sat on the side of the bed to tie his sneakers. He leaned to place a hand on Ethan's back and said, "Stay here as long as you want to, okay? As long as you want. I'm going to the farm for a few days. Call me if you want to. Okay? Ethan . . . "

He had reached the door when he stopped and turned, wanting to say, "Please don't bring Morgan here, to my bed. . ." but he didn't say it. He couldn't be so cruel, nor would he crawl and humiliate himself. As he turned to leave again he heard Ethan say, "I love you, Spence." But he wasn't sure whether the words were meant for his ears or just for the empty room.

~~/~~

Elle awoke from an uncomfortably deep nap and sighed and rubbed her forehead. The early evening breeze blew the curtains high over the sofa, and their motion was hypnotic; she let herself become lost in the billowing lace illuminated by the warm orange daylight for a few minutes. These days, her dreams were never pleasant, but were filled with tiny unsettling details. She always woke with a brief feeling of apprehension, and too often an awareness that she had no one to whom she could call for comfort. But such thoughts were unattractive to Elle, and she would quickly wipe them away and switch her mind to another gear.

She had sat up slowly and was gathering her thoughts and smoothing the back of her hair when she heard the heavy steps on the porch. She reached for her gun as she felt her heart race. As she heard the screen door open, she stood and braced her feet and aimed toward the archway leading into the room. Spencer stepped around the corner and stopped abruptly, staring wide-eyed at the gun. "What are you doing?"

"You scared the shit out of me!" she said, with a little less composure than she intended and a little more excitement than she preferred. She lowered the gun. "What the fuck, Reid!"

He stood looking sheepish for a few moments and then cocked his head and ran a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "You know, our kid is going to pick up some terrible language from you." His lips stretched into a sideways grin.

"Funny." She wasn't in the mood to laugh. She tucked the gun into the back of her jeans and said, "I have to feed, Emilio isn't here. You coming?"

Elle realized even as she spoke that she hadn't heard his car. "Uh, I've been here for a while," he said, "you were sleeping, and I already did the feeding."

She stood shivering slightly, thinking that she hadn't heard Spencer's car, nor had she heard the door when he first found her sleeping.

"Elle, you okay?" came his voice, softly.

She raised her eyes to his and tipped her chin up slightly when she answered, "I'm fine." He saw her tip her chin and realized how he liked the gesture. But then something in her eyes wavered and he saw her reach out a hand behind her and lean for the sofa.

Elle didn't remember seeing him cross the room to her, but suddenly found that they were sitting on the sofa and she was leaning into his shirt, and his arms were encircling her. "I'm sorry," she said as she sat up slowly, "I don't. . . I guess I'm just kind of tired."

"Hmm. Yeah. I'm going to make something for us to eat."

"Oh God, Reid. You cook? Will I die?" and she laughed, but stopped abruptly when she heard him draw in his breath sharply and look away. "What is it?"

"Oh, man. I'm . . . I'm sorry." He bit his lip and studied the end table. "I think I said that same thing, that same joke, to my fiance once. Weird."

They sat for a few moments, Elle hating the uncomfortable silence, and Reid hating that Aubrey had flooded through his mind on this day of all days - even as Ethan had left him. Then Reid looked at her and smiled softly, patting her leg like a parent and saying as he stood, "You rest. I'll cook." He added over his shoulder as he walked out of the parlor, "You won't die."

Elle sat on the sofa until her head stopped spinning. Then she got up and followed Reid into the kitchen. He was sorting through the refrigerator, taking out this and that in preparation for a masterpiece. "What's this?" He held up a bundle wrapped in white paper.

"Salmon steaks. I have no idea what to do with them, they just looked interesting." She sat down at the table to watch him.

"You buy food you don't know how to make because it looks interesting?" He smirked a smile as he place the salmon on the counter and leaned into the fridge again.

"Yeah. So? How hard can it be?"

"Guess we'll see." He took a beer out of the refrigerator. Dark ale. "I'm drinking this."

Elle watched him heat olive oil and sear the steaks, then put them in the oven. He stood over the stove making a sauce, humming to himself. She felt the least vulnerable that she had felt in the house for three weeks she hadn't seen him. "God, Reid, you even cook."

"I can do lots of things, Elle."

"I remember. Some more surprising than others." He turned to glance at her briefly and his face was flushed.

Elle wondered how he had come to climb into bed with her, when he was gay and in a relationship. She hesitated to ask, but then thought better of it - if they were expecting a child together, didn't she have a right to know some things about him? She watched him snip parsley from a bundle with her kitchen scissors. He stirred the sauce for a bit, adding Worcestershire sauce and dill. Then he stopped and frowned. "I'm missing something." Suddenly he looked at the bottle of ale, still mostly full, picked it up and poured its contents into the skillet.

Elle, surprised and delighted at his innovation, laughed loudly. "That was interesting."

"Make some rice," he said.

Twenty minutes later, as they sat at the table, Elle said, "This must be exactly the way one should prepare salmon steaks," and she winked at him. He smiled and looked down at his plate.

"You're staring at me."

"I am? I'm sorry." Truth be told, she liked it when he was squirming a bit. He was entirely charming when disarmed. "I was thinking . . . if this is a boy, I hope he is as pretty as you are."

Reid laughed, "A lot of good that ever did me. Probably got me beat up even more than I already was."

Elle watched him eat and thought that he seemed content and calm. Even as she felt content and calm since he had surprised her with his arrival. "We're a pair, aren't we," she mused. "You with all your demons and bad memories, and me with mine." She leaned and reached across the table for his hand. "But here, I'm happy, in this quiet place. You are too, aren't you?" Her dark eyes looked into his, inquiring.

"It's funny," he said, spearing another bite of salmon, "I never knew how much I would like manual labor." Elle laughed loudly at this. "I guess it's nice to just put the job and all the _thinking_ behind and come here, and actually . . ." he waved his fork in the air for emphasis, "I have come to appreciate the value of feeling a sense of accomplishment after three hours of work without having had to do mental gymnastics."

"And what about the sore muscles?" Elle joked.

"Oh, that. Yeah. Well, it's worth it." He smiled widely across the table to her. "It's a good sort of tired."

"I'm glad you're here," Elle said, surprising herself by her candor.

Reid stirred absently at his salad. "I'm sorry it has been a while."

"I thought maybe. . .you had cold feet. You know, about being a daddy," she teased.

"No!" he looked up, "Oh no, not at all. It wasn't that. It was other stuff. Some other stuff was happening . . ." and Elle watched him trail off, knowing that he was troubled.

"Work stuff?"

"What? Oh, no. Just some . . do you need some more rice?" He picked up the bowl to pass it.

"Spencer. . ." she said softly, finding that she was beginning to love the sound of his first name, "What is it?"

He was silent, and after a few moments she said, "Remember back after I was shot, and you came to my hotel room? And you said you thought I need to talk, and I wouldn't. And you said. . ."

"_Please?_," he laughed softly, "I remember."

"Please?" she said now, leveling her gaze at him.

She watched his lips move silently, searching to form words as his mind raced, a habit that she had once found annoyingly nerdy. Now she was mesmerized.

"It isn't that I don't want to tell you," he said then. "It's that I just . . can't talk about it right now. It's too . . .fresh. I guess. I broke up . . . uh, my boyfriend broke up with me. But I just. . .uh, I can't talk about it right now." He rose to clear the table.

Elle started to rise, and he stopped her, shooing her down again with a hand. "No, just rest. I'll do it. I'm here now." She watched him work as he cleaned the dishes and tidied the kitchen. She didn't speak, giving him space. She wanted to find the perfect words to offer comfort to him, but couldn't seem to begin. She imagined that his wound and vulnerability filled the room around her, without his saying a word. She thought what an odd feeling it was to realize the dichotomy of it: that he was so vulnerable and yet she felt safer with him in the house.

Later, she lay awake still thinking about what he had said, and that he had been so quiet after speaking about it. He had read for a time in the parlor, and then had excused himself and gone to bed early. She imagined that there was a sort of string that ran from his heart in his chest, through his room, down the hallway to her room and inside to her. She felt that it was tugging, and that he was too much alone. Elle had one thing in common with Reid that she had rarely spoken of to anyone - she had known loss in her early life too, and now as an adult she found that she had known few true friends. Somehow, these past months, Reid had become a friend to her, and she needed him to know that she was grateful for the growing bond and returned the sentiment. So after a time, deep in the night, she walked softly down the hall to his door and pushed it open. He was sleeping, curled up with his arms held around himself in a sort of hug. Sleeping, his face was almost childlike, with its long lashes and soft, full mouth. She climbed into the bed behind him and wrapped her arms around his, and lay her cheek on his back. He nestled back against her in his sleep. She inhaled the scent of him. Then she slept deeply and better than she had in weeks.

~~/~~


	16. Chapter 16

_Chapter Sixteeen_

Reid was in the barn when Elle saw the truck pull into the drive. Brad Ellington was stopping by uninvited, again. She watched from the kitchen window, thinking of how she was weary of the same conversation over and over: why didn't she take their relationship more seriously? Why shouldn't he move in? Even though she had stopped sleeping with him months ago, after she had become pregnant, he still insisted they were an item. He behaved as if there had been no change in her affections, if she had ever had any; she had been lonely and he was at first attractive, but it had changed when she got to know his character. The intentional, studied blindness with which he conducted himself with her now gave her chills.

Subtlety hadn't worked to make him stop, but she knew instinctively that to be more direct would only provoke him. She hated that she was in this situation - stupid enough to be involved with and subsequently trapped by a man such as Brad Ellington: charming, controlling, smothering, dangerous. She watched him walk up the porch steps and tucked her gun into her jeans. This time, she tucked it into the front, where he would see it.

She stepped outside on the porch to meet him, before he could knock. She faked a smile, "I don't remember calling you."

Brad smiled in return, and looked her up and down. His eyes fell upon the gun. "Something wrong?"

"No . . you know, the murders. Just like to keep safe," she lied, her eyes steady on his, "What brings you out here?"

"I wonder. . " he smirked and stepped toward her, opening his arms to embrace her. She froze at the feel of his arms about her, not returning the gesture. When he stepped back she faked another smile.

"Brad, you know, you really have to get over me." There, another hint. She waited.

His eyes studied hers, measuring her will, calculating. He opened his mouth to say something, but there was a motion behind him. "Hey . . . Dr. Ellington," said Reid, walking up the steps with his hand extended. "I didn't know you'd be here today."

Brad shook Reid's hand without warmth. "What, you live here now Dr. Reid?"

Reid frowned slightly, and didn't answer. He glanced at Elle. He had seen the exchange on the porch, had felt her anxiety from where he watched in the barn.

"Spencer is a good friend and a great help to me these days," said Elle, forcing calm into her voice.

Ellington looked at Reid for a moment and then said, "I would like to talk to Elle alone for a bit, if you don't mind, Dr. Reid."

"Actually, I . . "

"What could you possibly have to talk about with me that Spencer can't hear?" Elle forced a laugh. "Don't be rude, Brad." She thought about offering them both lemonade. "I'm going to get us something cold to drink. I'll bet you're parched, Reid."

When Brad followed her through the door into the house, Reid stepped in behind him. In the kitchen, Elle made small talk as she busied herself with pouring the drinks. She felt as if she could somehow force normalcy back into the atmosphere if she tried hard enough, and the tension would disappear. Reid wasn't so sure; he hung back and watched, the display of her anxiety angering him more by the minute.

Brad took a sip from the glass Elle handed him, and said bluntly, "What sort of relationship do you have with Elle?"

"That's none of your business," said Elle, glancing at Reid.

"You know, Dr. Reid," Brad continued, condescension dripping from his words, "Elle and I are close. We're talking about making it permanent."

"All right, Brad, that's enough," Elle cut in. She was out of patience, despite her fear. "We are no longer going to see each other, and you know it," she directed to Reid. "And Spencer has every right to be here. He is my friend, and the father of this child."

Brad choked into his lemonade, rudely. He laughed. "Really." He stared at Reid, his eyes traveling up and down the younger man, making a show of sizing him up. "Well. My congratulations, Reid."

Reid cleared his throat, "Thank you. I'm sorry Dr. Ellington, did you wish to see the horses?"

Brad drained the glass slowly and placed it on the table. "No, I won't be doing that again," he focused his words toward Reid. "I wish you luck with her." He walked from the kitchen, brushing past Elle. As he did he muttered, "You bitch."

Reid saw Elle shiver as Ellington passed. He waited for her eyes to meet his, but she stared at the counter. He turned to follow the visitor to his truck. Elle stepped to the window and watched. Brad didn't get into the truck, but turned to speak to Reid. His face was red, the words heated. She didn't want to imagine what he was saying. Reid was calm, hands in his pockets, quietly standing his ground. He was speaking a few words back toward Brad in between Brad's outbursts. Suddenly, he stepped forward and grabbed Brad by the collar and slammed him into the side of the truck. Elle saw Reid lean into Brad's stricken face and say something. Then he stepped back and allowed Brad to get into the truck. He stood by as the vet started the engine and backed up to turn down the lane. He watched as the truck drove away. She heard herself exhale.

Reid watched until the truck reached the end of the lane and turned out onto the highway. Then he came inside. She braced herself for a scolding as he entered the kitchen. She stood beside the sink and rinsed the glass that Brad had used. Quietly, Reid came to her and turned her around to face him. He slid the gun out of her jeans and put it on the countertop. Then he drew her against his chest. She stood in his arms and closed her eyes to feel his fingers stroking her hair. After a time he said, "Elle, he's gone. You're shaking."

She stepped back, and laughed nervously. "I'm sorry. You must think this is crazy. I'm sorry he was so rude to you, Reid."

"He said he wouldn't come again for the horses. I think . . .that is a good thing, Elle. He won't have an excuse to be here now."

"Oh God, Reid. The nearest equine vet is an hour and a half away." She walked to the window and looked out at the barn, sighing. "I guess I'd better show you how to hitch up the horse trailer."

Reid was putting more ice in her glass, not having to ask. He came to stand beside her and handed it to her. "It'll be okay."

She laughed to herself. "I have been thinking a lot lately about the oddest things. This pregnancy makes me strange . . . makes me think things."

"Like what?" Reid sipped from his own glass.

Elle swallowed. "Well, like my dad."

"He . . was shot, right? In the line of duty?"

"You remembered." She smiled, still looking out the window. "I was twelve. After that, nothing was the same." She shook herself and looked up at him. "He was funny, and kind. Like you. He always made me feel safe."

Reid shifted his weight nervously, not knowing what to say. He looked at his glass. It hadn't occurred to him that Elle had ever thought about needing to feel safe. In his mind, she seemed so self-reliant; but the gun she was carrying everywhere she went had made him question his perception. He wondered how many things he had never understood about her.

"I think," she said, "that I have made a lot of bad decisions in my life. Brad was one. Sometimes I feel like this baby is like a second chance at everything. I have to get it right, you know?"

Elle studied the sun reflecting on the roof of the barn. "I know it sounds weird, but there is no one . . ._no one_ that I would rather have as this baby's father than you, Reid."

~~/~~

In the late afternoon, Emilio came back from the visit to the new hay vendor's farm. He found his employer in the barn, washing a chestnut gelding that had just come for boarding. "I think this is good, Senora," he said to Elle as he took the hose from her and took over rinsing the soap from the gelding's coat. "The quality is good, and his price is better than you have been paying. Senora?"

Elle was silently looking at his hand as he worked. She had been startled, as it had touched hers when he took the hose, by an overwhelming ominous feeling. Something dark. "Emilio, did you say you knew him from before? From where?"

"Senor Reilly? I knew him from Richmond. He had a farm there, taught riding lessons." Emilio smiled, "I was a kid."

"You're still a kid," smiled Elle. She tried to shrug off the bad feeling. She had sensed a sort of threatening energy when she thought of Charles Reilly. She had seen the man's face in her mind - odd since she had never met him, and she wondered now if she might not be surprised when she finally met him face to face and found that her vision had been accurate. In that vision, his face was menacing and his eyes anger-filled. And suddenly she remembered the flash she had seen of Emilio covered in blood, the day he had first come to the farm.

"He'll deliver the load, but it's an extra cost," Emilio was saying, pouring the last bucket of warm water over the horse.

"That's all right, Emilio. It's easier to have him bring it over."

"I'll set it up, Senora."

Elle rubbed a towel over the gelding's back and chest. She led him through the open barn doors into the warm sunlight to dry. Out in the far side of the pasture she could see Reid and Esteban resetting a fence post. They laughed and conversed as they worked. The three of them - Esteban, Emilio and herself - had been working hard to keep the farm going, having lost two employees. Esteban was her rock as always, a step ahead of her in knowing what needed to be done from day to day. He had taken young Emilio under his wing and the two made a good team. But the workload had been a concern for her - she knew that they each put in ten to twelve or more hours every day, and she didn't feel that she could afford a third salary. The three weeks that Reid had been away had been trying ones for all of them. But now that Reid was here, the mood had lifted, the men grateful for the extra hands. And Reid seemed to enjoy it. She smiled to herself, thinking that she needed to buy him some sweatshirts now that the weather was getting cooler.

All during the time that she had known him at the BAU, he had worn a dress shirt and tie; now here at the farm he would put on a T-shirt and it always surprised her. It made him look younger, a little less tame. Over the weeks the trousers had been replaced by jeans. She had recommended he get some good boots to prevent getting his feet injured around the horses, and he had shown up in some steel-toed boots the next week. The transformation was entertaining and touching: at first she had thought he was learning about the horses and riding just to please her, to create common ground because of the baby. Then she noticed that he took interest in the books she kept and asked questions about types of feed, quality of hay, and how the business was run - she assumed that it appealed to his hungry intellect. But the vigor with which he threw himself into hauling hay bales, washing saddles, grooming horses, mending fences and repairing the barn roof, was something that had her flabbergasted. She found herself greatly amused, but dared not consider that he might actually be coming to like this way of life. He seemed to be genuinely sorry to have been away; perhaps the troubles with his boyfriend had indeed been the only reason, and not as she had previously thought, that he was tired of the farm, of her, afraid of the pending birth.

The horse snorted at the sound of her cellphone. She flipped it open and saw Morgan's name on the screen. "Morgan! Hey!"

"Elle, where the heck is your place? I'm lost - Hotch was driving last time," he laughed.

"It's good to hear your voice. Where are you?"

"I apologize for the . . . short notice. Hope it's okay."

"Sure. Where are you?"

"Uh . . .I'm on 522, past Lake Louisa about 5 miles. . ."

Elle was happy to have a visit from Morgan. She had been surprised at how good it had felt to see them all a few months back when the murders had happened. Even Hotch. Elle had always liked Morgan, and remembered the many times he had walked her through the unfamiliar, kept her from making a mistake, patted her on the back.

"I actually need to chat with our boy Reid," he was saying. "And I'd love to see you too of course," she could hear the flirtatious grin in his voice.

"Of course. See you in a few."

~~/~~


	17. Chapter 17

_Chapter Seventeen_

Elle heard Morgan's car and stepped out on the porch to greet him. She had put a beef roast in the oven and looked forward to another face at the table this night. Another old friend. He smiled at her behind from behind the car window and opened the door to step out.

"You're looking _gooood_," he said. "I hear congratulations are in order?" He held out his arms.

Elle rolled her eyes and laughed, descending the steps, "I suppose they are."

Morgan wrapped his big arms around her and kissed her cheek. "This quiet life stuff becomes you."

Elle heard approaching steps and turned to greet Reid and Esteban, but was surprised when Reid strode swiftly to Morgan without saying hello and stopped only when Morgan took an uncomfortable step backward, "What the hell are you doing here, Morgan?"

"Reid, hey, I just want to talk." Morgan raised his hands up in submission.

Elle felt her heart race and watched Esteban slink into the barn to avoid the conflict. "Reid, what is this? What's wrong?" She laughed nervously, looking at Reid's angry face and then Morgan's reticent one.

Reid didn't take his eyes off Morgan's. His hazel orbs flashed with emotion as he said, "Why don't you tell her, Morgan? Tell her what is _wrong_ here!"

"Reid, come on, Man. Don't do this. I didn't come here to upset Elle."

Reid glanced at Elle. She could see his mind struggling behind his eyes. He stalked off toward the barn.

"Morgan, I'm sorry." Elle stammered, embarrassed. "You're welcome here."

"I know," Morgan soothed, "don't worry about it. This is . . . this just needs to happen. I'm sorry." He looked toward the barn and sighed. "We had a little problem between us, and we need to hash it out."

"What happened, Morgan?"

"I lied to him about something I shouldn't have."

"Then apologize." Elle cocked her head up at Morgan and frowned.

"I wish it were that simple. . ." Morgan sighed again. "Excuse me." He followed Reid into the barn. Elle stood in the drive for a few moments, hesitating. The look in Reid's eyes had surprised her: the look was beyond angry, almost frantic. She couldn't help but feel concerned for him. She slowly walked toward the barn door.

"You have nothing to say to me I want to hear, Morgan!" Reid was yelling now.

Elle walked into the barn and leaned against a post. The two men faced each other across the aisle halfway down the length of the barn.

"Reid, I'm SORRY. There is nothing I can do to change this!"

"You wouldn't change it if you _could_," Reid sputtered, "You wanted it!"

"Yes, I did. But it wasn't planned and it never happened again."

Morgan suddenly sensed Elle's presence and looked at her. He said to Reid, "Let's please don't do this. Please."

Reid knew what he meant, sensed Morgan's humiliation and he said, "You been fucking him today? Yesterday? Where? My apartment? My bed? How was that?"

"Reid. Stop." Morgan leaned back against a stall door, looking at the floor. Elle heard his voice grow breathless, defeated.

"Why be ashamed of it, Man! You did it. You wanted it. You fucked my boyfriend," Reid was gesturing with his arms as he spoke. Elle thought that she could see, even from the distance, that his eyes were shining now, moist. He looked at Elle. "They hid it from me. For two months. Two months!"

"He loves you . . ." Morgan began softly.

"He can't even _touch_ me. You ended it." Reid made a sound that was something between choking and clearing his throat. His face was wet now.

"I didn't have to. Spencer, he needs more."

Reid screamed, "And YOU can give him that? You think you know anything about him?"

Morgan looked up at Reid, determined. "I'd like to try, yes."

But Reid wasn't ready for that answer. He flew at Morgan, a fist hitting Morgan squarely on the jaw. "Goddammit, Reid!" Morgan shoved Reid hard, landing him on his backside.

Elle ran down the aisle, and was between them by the time Reid scrambled to his feet, laying a hand on Reid's chest to stay him and putting up a warning finger to Morgan. "Stop it! I mean it!"

Morgan rubbed his jaw. "Damn, Pretty Boy. Where'd you learn that?"

Reid was breathing quickly and heavily through his mouth. Elle could feel his fury through her hand, and she rubbed her hand across his chest to calm him. Reid was crying silently, but unabashedly. Elle noted that Morgan seemed embarrassed and otherwise quite a bit less emotional, and it made her angry. She was still trying to adjust to what she had heard. _Morgan_ had broken up Reid and Ethan.

"I wasn't with him, yesterday or today, Man. He doesn't want to see me. And it isn't about . . . that. It isn't about hurting you, Reid." Morgan mumbled.

Elle felt Reid tense under her hand. "Shut up, Morgan," she said, "You've said enough. Reid's heard enough."

After a few minutes where no one knew what to say, Reid turned and strode from the barn. Morgan looked at Elle, "I'm sorry about this, Elle."

"About what, that you disturbed the peace in here, Morgan? Or that you screwed with Reid's life?"

"I have told him I was sorry. What else can I do, Elle? I didn't mean to mess anything up for him. It just. . ."

Elle waved her arm to shush him, "You know what Morgan? I don't want to hear it either." She stood looking at him squirm under her stare, a big man afraid of his own conscience. After a few minutes, she softened a bit and said, "Some things you can't fix with _sorry_, Morgan. They are just too big."

~~/~~

When Sunday evening came, Elle was melancholy. She always hated to see Reid leave, but this time was worse. Since Morgan had left the day before, Reid had said few words to her, or to the hired hands. Saturday evening he had thanked her for dinner and gone out again to work. She had heard the screen door when he came in when it was long since dark, past ten o'clock, but he didn't say a word to her; she heard the creak of the stairs soon after as he quietly went up to bed.

Sunday had been the same. He had worked until he broke a hard sweat, coming into the house only to eat or drink; he answered politely her when she spoke to him but never initiated a conversation. She found herself missing his bad jokes, his laugh. His voice. His companionship. But she knew that his silence was born of the wound he was nursing. And she shuddered to imagine the betrayal he must feel. All she could think of to do for him was to give him the space he seemed to need.

And so when Sunday evening came and she had finished the dishes, and she heard him come down the stairs with his bag, it was with sympathy and sorrow that she turned to see him leave. She put down the dish towel and went outside to where he was tossing his bag into the back seat of the car. "You wouldn't go without saying good-bye, right?" she teased.

"Of course not," he offered a soft smile. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him tight against her. He smelled of soap and clean laundry. She reached up and smoothed his hair, still wet from the shower. She was slightly afraid to say the words, but made herself speak, "You know, I'm so sorry about everything. . . what Morgan did, your boyfriend. You deserve better."

Reid bit his lip and looked down, nervous. His lips worked to find words that didn't come.

"I think it's just about the cruelest thing a person can do to another person, to cheat on them. Or betray them. I do," she offered. She found his hands at his sides and held them. "You come back to me next weekend. We'll be waiting for you. No staying away sulking to yourself, Reid. You have a home here."

When she said the last words, he suddenly raised his eyes to search hers. He bent and kissed her cheek and lingered there for several seconds longer than she expected. "I'll be back," he said, and got into the car.

As she watched him drive down the lane and turn onto the highway, she hoped that his week at a desk beside Morgan's wouldn't be too unpleasant for him. She sat on the porch then and watched the sun disappear and listened to the crickets and locusts and frogs. The breeze kept away the mosquitoes, and she didn't want to go inside when she saw the moon grow higher and the sky darker. The air smelled sweetly of earth and pasture. When she went into the house she turned out the lights and went up to bed. But instead of climbing into her own bed to sleep, she climbed into his.

~~/~~

Reid entered his apartment to find a lamp on for him. For a moment his heart quickened with hope that perhaps Ethan was still there. But hope fell as he realized that all was silent. His first thought was that Ethan had gone back to New Orleans, but then he found himself wondering if he was staying with Morgan. There were fresh flowers in a vase on the coffee table in the living room, and in another on the kitchen table. Sunflowers. Ethan knew Reid loved seeing those at the edges of the fields when late summer came.

He threw his keys on the counter and switched off the lights, and carried his bag back to the bedroom. The bed was made neatly, and another vase of flowers greeted him on the nightstand. Funny, he thought bitterly, that Ethan was usually a slob, and now that he had left Reid he was suddenly neat. Maybe Morgan would like that in him.

Reid took socks and underwear from the bag and carefully arranged his socks in a drawer and hung his spare shirt and work trousers in the closet. He took out T-shirts and placed them in another drawer. He slowly undressed and then went into the bathroom and peed. He brushed his teeth with his back to the mirror, staring at the shower stall. He went back to the bedroom and put on pajamas. When he walked to the bed he paused and looked briefly at a book he had been interested in before he left for Elle's. He remembered that Ethan had been thumbing through it . . . it was only two days ago and it seemed like weeks. His hand reached down to touch it, but then he drew it back and sighed. He switched off the lamp and climbed into the bed.

He lay in the dark thinking about what Elle had said, that the farm was home. It had moved him to hear it. That what would be their child's home was somehow his as well. But on the way back to the city, he had thought about the possibility that Elle would one day find a man and it would be uncomfortable to have Reid there. And then that man and Elle and Reid's child would all live there, a little family, and he would be alone again. As he always was in the end. But he was used to it, and - he sniffed loudly to himself - good at it. He liked books better than people anyway.

Reid had lain in the dark thinking about these things for several minutes, when he suddenly realized that he was lying in the sheets in which he and Ethan had spent their last minutes together. He had touched Ethan, and Ethan had tried to respond. The scent of them together, their very skin cells, lost hairs, lay in the bed under him. He suddenly wanted to be rid of it all. And so he rose and turned on the lamp and stripped the bed down, throwing the sheets into the corner. He went into the hallway and got fresh bedding from the linen closet and made the bed up again. Then he switched off the lamp again and started to climb back into the bed.

But then Reid thought that perhaps some of those skin cells and hairs and fibers and DNA from drops of sweat had lingered on his own body. So he took off his pajamas and threw them into the pile with the soiled sheets. He went into the bathroom and got into the shower. He leaned his arm and forehead against the cool tile and let the water stream over him. He stood there for a very long time.

After he had dried and put on a fresh pair of pajamas, he looked out at the moon for a few moments, thinking about it being the same moon he would be looking at if he were at the farm in his room there. Then he switched off the lamp and he climbed into bed again. He held the pillow against his face in the dark to muffle the sound and moaned a long, low, pain-filled moan. No one else could hear, in the empty room, in the empty apartment, but it annoyed him to hear it and if he could have released the misery silently he would have.

~~/~~


	18. Chapter 18

_Chapter Eighteen_

"Morgan, are you with us?" Hotch chided, pausing momentarily in the midst of the round table meeting.

"Yeah, Hotch," Morgan looked up innocently, "I'm listening."

Hotch frowned. Morgan had been distracted all morning, quite uncharacteristically. Hotch wasn't annoyed so much as concerned. Of all of the agents, Morgan was always the most engaged, the most in tune to the moment, the first to lead the charge. But today he seemed miles away. He had barely said good morning to anyone, had kept to himself. And Hotch had noticed that the unspoken tension between Morgan and Reid was worse than ever.

Earlier that morning, Hotch had called Morgan into his office the moment he had noticed what looked like a large bruise on his jaw. No one else had asked him about it, because Morgan's mood scared them off. But the idea that an agent had been involved in some sort of brawl was something Hotch couldn't ignore - especially when it was an agent with a spotless record.

"Close the door," Hotch had instructed when Morgan appeared in the doorway of the office.

"What is it?" Morgan asked, anxious, restless to leave again.

"Morgan, what's going on with you?"

"Hotch . . . just don't worry about it. I'm taking care of things." Morgan couldn't keep a bit of annoyance from his voice.

Never one to mince words, Hotch asked, "Where did you get the bruise? Fight?"

"Not exactly. It's fine."

When Morgan offered no explanation of an accident, Hotch pushed ahead, "What's not exactly?" He watched Morgan fishing for words for about ten seconds and then said, "Whatever it was Morgan, you need to think about who you are and the reputation of the Bureau and the BAU. Agents don't get into fist fights."

Morgan leveled a stare at Hotch, "I have never done anything, Hotch, to hurt our rep. And I wouldn't. This wasn't exactly my doing. The other guy threw the punch. End of fight."

Hotch rose from his chair and walked around to the front of the desk. He crossed his arms. "Morgan, do you need some time off?"

"What?"

"You're restless - more than usual. You're tense. You're distracted, you get punched in the face. You and Reid aren't speaking. I am asking if you need some time off."

"No Hotch, I don't. I need a little slack. I have some personal things to work out. I don't let it interfere with the job."

Hotch studied Morgan's face for a flicker of doubt and didn't find it. "Fine. Let me know if I can help."

"Thanks," Morgan had said and then left abruptly. Hotch knew he had given a message to Morgan to get his act together. That was enough for now. He hoped that he wouldn't have to talk to Reid too.

Now at the round table meeting, as he watched Morgan fight to stay focused, he was wondering if he needed to press their private talk further. He could insist, after all, that Morgan take some time off. Although the animosity that might create in Morgan might not be worth the struggle in the end, and doing without Morgan with the team was not something Hotch wanted to experience, even for a few weeks.

"We found him?" Reid asked as he read the printout from Garcia's computer. "He's near Elle's place . . . everything would seem to fit."

"Right," said Rossi, "But we don't have anything definitive to tie him to the killings. Yet."

"We can still question him," said Hotch.

"We won't be able to talk him into a DNA sample," worried Prentiss.

"We can do what we can," said Hotch. "Morgan, Reid, take a drive. Go meet Mr. Reilly."

~~/~~

"So you planning on ignoring me the whole day? It's going to be hard to talk to Reilly, Man, if we aren't speaking to each other." Morgan felt that after forty-five minutes of driving it was time to break the silence.

Reid looked out at the passing fields. "Hotch put us together to make us work together. There is no reason why we can't work together. But I'm thinking our days of small talk are over, Morgan."

"Reid, we have to get back to where we were. We had a friendship." Then after a bit, met only with silence from the passenger seat, Morgan added, "It meant something to me, Man."

"Yeah. It meant something to me too, Morgan," Reid's voice was strained, controlling anger. His tone signaled he wasn't interested in sentiment.

But Morgan had grown tired of the fight. He sighed. After ten minutes, he just started talking, feeling there was nothing to lose. "Ethan came to me, and I was surprised. And you're right, I let it happen. I let it happen. I don't know why. Wait, yes I do. I got to know him, you know when you were. . .sick."

Morgan banged his hand against the steering wheel, and was speaking now as much to himself as to Reid, telling the story out loud to benefit his own comprehension. "All these years, Reid. All these years. I've been chasing all these women and I never caught anything I wanted. Not once. I thought . . ." and here Morgan was silent for several seconds, until Reid wondered if the story had ended prematurely. ". . .I thought there was something _wrong_ with me, Man. I never fell in love, never really wanted to see any of them more than a few times - even the ones I _liked_. I live alone, like you, and I never wanted that. I'm near 40 years old, Reid. I want to be with someone. But there was never anyone I wanted. When I met Ethan . . . it was like something woke up. Something just. . . woke up in me. And yeah, I wanted him. I let it happen." Morgan stared ahead at the road then, not speaking, tapping on the wheel. Suddenly he veered to the side of the road and stopped.

Morgan turned toward Reid and said, "I don't care, Man, if you don't want to hear me. I am sorry, Reid. I am _sorry_. Because you are like my brother, Kiddo. I miss that. I did a bad thing to you, and I'm not proud of it. I did a bad thing not to tell you, but I didn't think it was my place. I am not gonna make excuses. I just need you to understand. I really . . .I didn't know who I was and he helped me find out. I'm not sorry for that."

They sat in silence, Morgan looking at Reid, trying to read his expression, and Reid gazing out the window, refusing to look at Morgan. Finally Reid turned to look at Morgan squarely, setting his jaw. "Do you care about Ethan? Do you even care about him?"

"Reid. . ." Morgan looked back into Reid's eyes, willing him to understand. "I care more about him than any of those women. Don't you see? Two hours with him changed me, Man."

"But he went back to New Orleans?"

"We talked. On the phone. I never saw him. He is a mess. He didn't want _me_. He wanted to get away I guess."

Reid looked back out the window. He said quietly, "Did he tell you he couldn't. . .we couldn't do anything because he couldn't? He didn't want me anymore."

Morgan's eyes were soft as he watched Reid. "He told me once, he said, _I'll love Spencer Reid for the rest of my life._ I can't compete with that. No one can. He left because he is messed up. He can't be with you anymore and know you can't want him like that, Reid. Don't you get that?"

Reid's mouth twisted into a sort of grimace. "So where does that leave you Morgan?"

"I don't know, Man. Hardly knowing who I am. Missing him every damn day. Trying to just. . .get over this."

Then Morgan asked, "What about you, Kid? You really think it's over? You okay?"

"No, Morgan. I'm not," then he whispered, "I'm not." After a time Reid lifted his chin and looked ahead, down the road. "We better get going."

~~/~~

Reilly climbed down from the combine and brushed sweat off his brow as he walked to where Morgan and Reid stood at the edge of the field. "You fellas want to get muddy, that's a good place." He looked the agents over and put his cap back on his head. "What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Charles Reilly?" Morgan asked.

"Yessir."

Morgan took out his badge, and Reid followed suit. "F.B.I. I'm Special Agent Morgan, this is Dr. Reid. We are investigating some murders in the area and wondered if you could help us with some information."

Reilly squinted against the noon sun. "Don't see why not."

"Is there somewhere we can talk, Mr. Reilly?" Reid asked.

"I've got hay to get in, Boys. Rain tonight."

"We appreciate that, Mr. Reilly, but it's very important."

As they walked toward the farmhouse Reilly did little chatting. He was difficult to read - Morgan didn't know if Reilly was just a product of farm life or he was nervous. Inside the farmhouse kitchen, Reilly took a seat, offering the same to the agents. They remained standing. Reid picked tiny pieces of vegetation from the weeds off his shirt.

"You've heard about the murders in the area over the past year?" began Morgan.

"'Course. Everyone has. Shame."

"Mr. Reilly," Reid leaned against the counter,"we have found an odd connection. All of the victims seem to have known you at one time. When you lived in Richmond."

"Really?" Reilly scratched his head.

Reid continued, "Can you think of any reason why that would be?"

"No sir. I can't."

Reid exchanged a glance with Morgan. They weren't getting anywhere. They were walking a fine line: spooking Reilly might cause him to run. And disappear. Morgan tried a different approach.

"Sir, with all due respect, we know that you had a daughter who died in an accident?"

Reilly stiffened. "Long time ago."

"Some of the murder victims seemed to have known her and your family back then," said Morgan.

Reilly looked from one agent to the other, studying their faces. His expression was all innocence and cooperation. "You don't say. Can't think why that would be. They probably all knew other people too - you know how kids will get a common hobby and hang out together. Well, now, a lot of those type people come up here from Richmond and work on these horse farms."

Reid looked at Morgan suddenly. But Morgan had already had the same thought. "Mr. Reilly, we appreciate your time. Can you recommend a good place for lunch?"

Five minutes later they watched Reilly return to the field as they climbed into the car. "It's him, Morgan," said Reid. "The papers didn't say anything about working on horse farms. They said _farms_."

"Yeah," agreed Morgan as he started the engine. "He also knew they were _all _involved in the same 'hobby' as kids, and all from Richmond. Over the course of a year, even reading all the news stories, no one would remember that. He knows too much."

"There's nothing we can do but wait now," Reid flipped open his phone. "I'll tell Hotch we have our unsub, and we're coming back."

As they passed the turn onto the highway that led to Elle's place, both Morgan and Reid were quiet. Reid felt a tug in his chest, as if he could simply turn to Morgan and say, "Turn, let's go down that road," and soon be at the peace and safety of the farm. With Elle. When they passed the turn-off he sighed deeply, without realizing it. Morgan heard him sigh and remembered what Reid had said earlier, _No Morgan, I'm not okay_.

The mood in the car had been easy, compared to what it was on the trip down from Quantico. They had stopped for lunch and had even managed some of the joking banter that had once been their constant mode of communication. Now, there was an uneasy but mutually-committed truce in the air. Morgan played jazz softly on the stereo, and Reid leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The heat of the afternoon blazed on the pavement of the freeway and made the ride seem longer than it was.

Suddenly Reid looked over at Morgan. He reached into his pocket for his phone.

"What is it Reid?"

"Garcia?" Reid was saying, his phone to his ear, "Can you look up a man named Emilio . . . Perez. He would be under twenty-five, an immigrant. Did he once live in Richmond - around the time of Darcy Reilly's death? Did he take any riding lessons or participate in any horse-type activities as a teenager?"

He flipped the phone closed and looked at Morgan, "I think I know the next target. He works at Elle's."

~~/~~


	19. Chapter 19

_Chapter Nineteen_

Elle heard herself cry out and opened her eyes. Eleven-thirty. The breeze coming through the screen into her bedroom had grown stiffer and colder since the past evening. She slowly rose from the bed and crossed to close the window. She looked out at the outbuildings lying under the moonlight. The bunkhouse that provided a home for Esteban and Emilio was dark and silent. She turned on the bedside lamp, pulled a sweatshirt from a drawer, and climbed back into the bed.

The dream had been vivid, so vivid. It was still with her, not dissipating into the wakefulness from which dreams usually flee. She had dreamt of Emilio's death this time. It was bad, bloody, a beating. She had seen him lying in a field, beaten with a large object - every jarring, agonizing blow - until the life left him. Now she didn't know how she was going to go back to sleep, and was afraid that if she did the dream would rear its head again. She thought about going downstairs to make herself something hot to drink, but it seemed like a long trip and a lot of effort.

She gazed at the lightbulb's glow through the lampshade and tried to remember more of the dream - searching for something that could help reveal more to her of what might be coming. Something had been so out of place - some detail was still nagging at her. She had seen Emilio crossing the pasture, then lying on the ground, in the dark. An object raised over him and brought down hard, again and again - but . . . that was it! He hadn't fought back! He had been immobile, unable or unwilling to fight. _Why?_ And again, she had seen a man's face looming - angry, determined. But when she imagined this man at the other end of the weapon, she saw. . yes, it was a woman. A _woman_.

She was still trying to see details in the faces when she drifted off again.

~~/~~

The team waited for Hotch as he finished a phone call to his supervisor; J.J. passed a coffee decanter around the table. Reid had already been fidgeting in his seat at the round table before anyone else had come in. It was only Tuesday, and he wanted to be anywhere but an hour and a half away from Elle's. He had been unable to reach her the evening before, and he hadn't left a message. Somehow telling her over the phone that her employee was a sitting duck for a serial killer didn't seem the appropriate thing to do. Then after 3 a.m. his phone had rung.

"Reid? You all right?"

"Yeah," he rubbed his eyes to will the sleep away. "Elle."

"You called me. Like five times. And didn't leave a message."

"Oh, yeah. I'm sorry. I'm . . . I'm fine. I needed to tell you something. You know, it can wait until tomorrow. Go back to sleep."

"Reid, you're a pain in the ass," he heard her laugh softly.

"Sorry. Sorry. I'll call you tomorrow. I promise."

"Spencer? Wait!"

"Yeah?"

"I had a dream. Again. It was a vision, I"m sure of it."

"Elle, I have to sleep. . . " He lay down on the pillow again, the phone to his ear.

"I think that the killer may be a woman, and I think Emilio is in trouble."

"Yeah. . .uh, Elle. We know who it is. It's a man."

"It's not. It can't be."

"Elle. I'm going to call you tomorrow. Okay? I'm just. . . I really need to sleep. I'm sorry. Bye." Reid had flipped the phone closed and tumbled into sleep immediately. Only this morning when he was showering did he remember that she had said Emilio was in trouble. This would be the second time she had foreseen that, that he knew of. But then Reid didn't believe in any visions - although he knew that Elle did, and that gave him pause because she was someone he respected. He knew her to be practical, level-headed.

"What do we have?" Hotch directed to Morgan and Reid as he took a seat.

"Hotch, he's the guy," began Morgan. "He knew details that we don't believe your average person would know or at least wouldn't remember."

"What's he like?" said Rossi.

"He's big, he's strong - he's a farmer. He's no more than fifty years of age," Morgan said. "I can see him overpowering most men, one on one."

"But there were two victims at Elle's," said Prentiss. "He would have had to kill them separately."

"Which is not far-fetched, with some planning," said Rossi, pouring another cup of coffee.

"Elle's out there alone, " said Reid suddenly, looking up at Hotch.

"She has hired help living there, doesn't she?" Hotch asked.

Reid hesitated. "She's in the house alone at night."

"Yes, I understand," said Hotch. "But Elle is better capable than most of taking care of herself. We can't post a guard. We have to wait until Reilly makes a move. The best we can do is let Elle know what we have learned, and what may be likely to take place. At this point it is just speculation that Reilly will even go after Perez next."

Reid cleared his throat, softly. Then he cleared his throat loudly, glancing around at everyone. He shifted in the chair. "Uh . . . there is something else."

"What is it?" asked Hotch impatiently.

"Uh, Elle is . . . she is pregnant. We are. . . uh, I'm the dad. We're going to have a baby."

A bystander to the scene would have found it comical. Every mouth hung agape, except Morgan's of course. Every brain scrambled to categorize this logic-defying information: Reid and Elle lovers. Reid and Elle parents. Together. Awkward, bookish, boyish Reid, the baby of the group, and Elle - brash, street-smart, independent, strong-willed.

Reid looked around the table at the astonished faces of his colleagues. "I've been spending a lot of the time off at her farm." He stated matter-of-factly. He waited for a response. "What?"

"I . . . think that's great," smiled Emily. "Congratulations, Reid."

"Wow." said Garcia. "Reid. Wow."

Rossi laughed to himself, shaking his head.

"My point in telling you this is," pressed Reid, "that I don't think this news will be good for Elle right now. She is tired, she doesn't always think straight. I mean," he waved his arms in mild frustration, "she's. . . well. Pregnant."

"I remember that," laughed J.J., "not being able to think."

"You don't think she's up for this, Reid?" asked Hotch, an unfamiliar gentleness in his voice.

"If we get a case, Hotch, I can be on a plane - but if we don't need to travel, I think someone should be there."

"Go."

"Thanks, Hotch." Reid sighed to himself, grateful for his boss's generous response. He wouldn't call Elle this morning, he would see her tonight.

"Keep in close touch. You're our eyes out there."

"Yes, sir."

Out in the hallway, as everyone made their way back to their desks, Hotch caught up to Reid and wordlessly put a hand protectively on his back as they walked.

~~/~~

Elle had found her heart racing as she hung up the phone. Reid had called to say he was on his way and would be there before dark. She told herself it was because she was overheated - her body temperature fluctuating because of the pregnancy. She told herself it was because it was the middle of the week, and he had surprised her, she not expecting him until later in the week. She even told herself that the ring of the cell phone had startled her. But she was thinking about the moment that he would drive up to the house, get out of his car, smile at her, kiss her cheek, and that the house would be full of his voice, his cologne, his quiet energy again.

She knew that he was coming because he felt a need to protect her. For once in her life - since she had been twelve and lost her father - she didn't mind. This would be the second male protector she could tolerate. After all, Reid did it in such a way that let her breathe. He never said it out loud, didn't push it in her face, or ask her permission. He simply did it. He did it without condescension or excessive jostling for control. He did it with respect. He didn't seem to need to make her weak in order to be strong.

She was sitting on the porch trying to concentrate on a magazine, the pages still legible in the fading light of the day, when she finally heard the slow of an engine as his car turned into the lane. She tried to appear nonchalant as she rose and stretched her back.

He grinned as he turned off the engine. He put his bag down on the porch to pause for her hug. She wrapped her arms tight around his slender waist and buried her face in his shirt. She leaned back and brushed his silky bangs from his face, smiling up at him, "I'm glad you're here."

"How are you doing?" he asked softly. "You feeling okay?"

"Great."

"I have to talk to you about some things." He stooped to pick up his bag again.

"Sounds serious," she teased and led him into the house. "Why don't you sit and I'll get you some iced tea. Reid, why don't you leave some things here, for Heaven's sake? You wouldn't be lugging them back and forth."

"Yeah. Uh. Okay."

When she came into the parlor with two glasses and a pitcher of tea, he was sitting on the sofa and removing his shoes, rubbing his feet. He sighed without looking up, as she set the pitcher and glasses on the coffee table.

"Long day?"

"Yeah, kind of. By the way, the cat's out of the bag. J.J. and Garcia are planning some kind of party for you. . .what do you call it? When they give you baby things?"

Elle laughed, "A shower."

"That's . . weird."

"Because they shower you with gifts and good luck."

"Oh. Okay. Yeah."

She sat beside him, curling her legs under her, sitting close beside him as she usually did. She tucked her arm under his and held his hand in both of hers. She leaned her head on his shoulder. It was nice. . . being so affectionate with a man and not worrying. It was nice that he was gay. It was so. . . non-threatening and comfortable, to admire his looks and his better character traits, without worrying about turning him on. She still wondered occasionally what exactly had happened the night he had come to her room, _why_ it had happened for him.

"Reid," she said quietly, "that night we . . . were together, did you have a fight with your boyfriend then?"

"Well, kind of. We were. . .struggling. Yeah."

"That's why it happened?"

"You uh," he laughed softly, "started it, Elle."

He twined his fingers into hers.

"Is your heart broken badly?" she asked.

He was silent, looking down at the floor. After a bit he answered, "I guess it is. It's just that. . . he really, uh, he _loved_ me, you know? I could feel it. I could always feel it. And now it's just. . . gone. And uh, " he laughed low in his throat, and then cleared his throat, "I am used to having it, and now. . . I don't."

"Adjustment period."

"Yeah, adjustment."

"Did you love him?"

He cleared his throat again, and sniffed. Then he reached for the pitcher and poured them both a glass. "I have been thinking about what you said this morning."

"What?"

"About the dream you had. You are creeping me out a little, Elle." He laughed. "I mean, we think that Emilio might indeed be in danger from this unsub. . . and we know who it is."

"Really?" She took the glass he offered and sat up to look at his face. "Who is it?"

"You have a neighbor. . . Charles Reilly."

"Emilio bought some hay from him. I started having feelings. . . feelings about this Reilly hurting Emilio."

"We think he might, Elle. We did some searching into Emilio. He fits the victim profile: he's from Richmond, experienced with horses, under twenty-five years old, and he was a riding student under Charles Reilly."

Elle sipped her tea, looking at him. "Great. But it isn't Reilly, Reid."

"What?"

"It's a woman."

Reid looked into Elle's eyes, not wanting to betray his wariness of her convictions. People didn't know things they didn't learn through five senses, he knew it. But this was Elle. She always had her feet on the ground. "I want to understand," he said finally. "Tell me."

"My mother did it too," she said. "In her culture, Cuba, it was more accepted to see things that were unseeable. It wasn't frowned about or dismissed outright, you know. I started seeing things when I was a teenager. At first it was just. . . stupid things that didn't matter and I couldn't prove. But now, a few times, there have been things that were important and turned out to be right."

After a few minutes of silence from Reid, during which they sipped their tea and avoided eye contact, Elle said, "I know that this must sound silly Reid. I guess I would think it was nuts if I were you. All I can tell you is what I know, and experience. I think I'm right about this. I saw Charles Reilly's face. But I also saw another one, a woman, and that person was beating Emilio to death."

Reid looked at her, "What do you mean . . . _beating Emilio_? What did you see?"

"I don't know. He was lying in a field, in the dark, and someone was hitting him over and over again with something big and hard. And it was a woman's face."

Reid started to speak but Elle continued, "The thing is, he wasn't moving. Not even at first, when it started. He never resisted. Like he couldn't. I don't get that. What would make a grown man not fight back?"

"I don't know. . .drug?"

Elle looked at him, then leaned and took the pitcher from the table, "More?"

"No, thanks, I"m fine." Reid watched her pour the cool, amber liquid into her glass. Her hair was back in a long braid, and a lock had fallen over her cheek. He found himself fighting an impulse to touch it. She nestled herself closer against his side, and the smallness, the warm softness of her stirred him. He was glad they hadn't turned on the lamp yet, and now the light from the window was nearly gone.

"So what now?" Her voice broke his thoughts.

"What?"

"What do we do now? About Emilio?"

"Nothing we can do but wait. And watch. Will you tell me something?"

"Hmmmmm."

"Do you feel like. . . something is going to happen?"

"Something is coming. I feel it every night. I haven't slept well in two weeks. I get up in the middle of the night and look out at the bunkhouse. It's driving me crazy, Reid."

"Is that good for you? I mean. . . "

"Can't much be helped. Can it?" She sat contentedly beside him, finishing the last of the tea in her glass. "Don't fuss over me. You know I hate that."

He took the glass from her hands and set it on the table. Then he moved to put his arm around her. She smiled in the darkness and put a hand on his cheek. He gave in, and leaned to touch his lips to hers. He felt her draw a breath in quickly in surprise, but she didn't move away. He brushed his mouth lightly over hers, teasingly, and then kissed her harder. Her held her face to his and smiled onto her mouth, tasting the sweetness of her, tugging her lips between his. It was so easy, touching her. There was no thinking hard about it, as he did with Ethan - always trying to prove himself and his affection. It felt as if he had kissed Elle for years - maybe somewhere else that he didn't remember.

"Reid." She suddenly pushed him back and stood. She picked up the glasses and pitcher and went to the kitchen. He saw the light come on, and felt his face flush. He hadn't meant to upset her. Here they were again, doing the same dance. But this time it was he who had started the seduction. He stood and went to the kitchen.

She didn't turn away from the sink when she heard him come in. "Elle, I didn't mean. . . uh. . . "

"What, Reid?" She turned to face him, her pretty brown eyes flashing. "You didn't mean to play with me?"

"What? I'm not playing with you." He stared at her, frowning. Hurt.

"You are and you know it. You're gay. What the fuck, Reid. I'm not stupid. I'm not going to be something for you to. . . . whenever you need to get laid between boyfriends."

"I can't believe you would think that."

She threw the dishtowel on the counter and began to walk out of the room. When she passed him he reached for her arm but she shrugged him off and left. He heard her feet on the stairs.

Reid went to the counter and picked the towel up to hang it to dry. He leaned against the counter and studied the floorboards for a few minutes. She was right. . . he didn't have a right to touch her. He was fresh off a relationship with Ethan, and he had minutes before told her he wasn't over it. Of course she felt used. _Of course._

But he knew he hadn't used her. He had felt something . . . a lot . . .for her there sitting in the dark. The night they had spent together he had been lost in her. It was real. The times lately when the last ten miles to her house were agonizing, that was real. He missed her. She was beautiful. She made him laugh, and challenged him. He understood her. He . . . oh God. Did he need her?

When had this happened? He looked up into the expanse of the kitchen, his mouth open, thinking. When did it all change? When had he stopped being afraid of her passionate nature and come to like it? When had he come to accept and be happy about the pregnancy? When had he started to look forward to her growing belly and been disappointed to not yet see a bump? When had he noticed how her eyes laughed when she did? When had it become so important to make her laugh? When had it become so important to make her safe? He wondered if he had somehow not noticed these things because of the turmoil he had been caught up in, worrying about Ethan and Morgan and promises and fidelity. He couldn't remember when he hadn't worried about it all. When he had made love to someone without it being _work_ No wait, yes he did. That last time was with Elle.

"What have I been thinking?" he whispered to himself, frowning in confusion. He turned and opened a drawer, fishing around, and pulled out a flashlight and a pair of scissors. He crossed through the kitchen, out the door, down the porch steps. He walked along the lane, looking in the ditches at the side of the road for black-eyed Susans that he had seen when he drove in. One by one he snipped them and gathered them into his hand in a bunch, until he couldn't hold any more.


	20. Chapter 20

_Chapter Twenty_

Elle woke to the sun streaming into the window, and panicked momentarily. She had overslept. She usually did feedings herself, and throwing off the horses' feedings too much could result in live-threatening colic, all sorts of issues for them. Then she remembered that Reid was in the house. He wouldn't have forgotten. And he never overslept.

But suddenly Elle remembered that she had been angry at him the night before. She hadn't even said goodnight but had turned her back to him and gone upstairs. But really, what had he been thinking? She _wouldn't_ be used. She'd been down that road before with other men, and she was too smart for it now, even if it was Reid and he was so . . . well, a man she would otherwise be happy to sleep with. If he weren't into men. Damn, why did that have to be the case? When he was young, when they had worked together, she hadn't even thought about him as a _man_. He was just _Reid_. Nerdy, awkward Reid. Nothing about him had attracted her then, although even then she couldn't help but notice his unusually pretty face, under the heavy glasses and unruly hair. She laughed to herself, remembering how he was so talented at saying just the wrong thing, dropping things at inopportune times, offending someone at every local precinct they worked. Hotch would have killed him the first year out of sheer frustration, if Reid hadn't been so brilliant; he always came through with that brain when needed.

And now. . . he was so changed from the young man he had been then. Still a bit shy, slightly awkward. He still shared the oddest things at inappropriate moments, took everything too literally in conversation, looked at the world askew. But now, those things just fascinated her. His looks had changed too - softer, less self-conscious, more self-assured. He had developed a sort of stylishness in his dress that surprised her - Reid had developed a sort of Reid-chic.

She sighed and sat up slowly. The thought that they had spent a night together seemed so far away now. What had she been thinking when she had approached him that night? She had been happy to see an old friend. And Brad had begun to make her so disgusted. She had been - she winced to think it - lonely. And Reid had been, well, his handsome self, and non-threatening. She had expected to take the lead, expected him to be bumbling and naive. She had thought she would be doing him a favor, giving him a night to remember.

But he had turned it all around. He had rejected her, which had hurt and infuriated her. And then he had come back. And astounded her. This had been no bumbling boy. She could almost not bear to think about the details now, because in truth she had loved being with him. Too much. And that is why the last evening had made her angry - he had tried to pull her in again, into that wonderful place. And it was an illusion. He didn't really want her. He couldn't.

She had slept a good nine hours and she felt as if she could sleep another nine. She hated being so exhausted every day. As she padded across the hallway to the bathroom, she thought about their argument. She had made her point, well enough. He knew he couldn't just use her for some sexual outlet, nurse his broken heart with her. He knew that. It was enough. She knew instinctively that he hadn't meant to hurt her, and surely he was momentarily thinking with his. . . well. She had said enough, and now she would let it go.

Twenty minutes later she found him in the kitchen, making coffee for himself. "Reid, what are you. . . oh . . ." Her eyes swept the many vases and glasses of flowers in the kitchen. On the table, on the cupboards, in the windowsill. Everywhere.

He glanced at her, not meeting her eyes. "Peace offering," he said softly, simply. He handed her a glass of orange juice.

"You're - God, you're _baking_?" She laughed.

He relaxed, sensing her mood. "I can bake. Muffins." He smiled. He put her tea kettle on the stove and turned on the gas. "I have to go out again. . . I told Esteban I'd help with the barn roof. Don't let those muffins burn. Okay?"

He glance around the kitchen once more, running a hand through his bangs, and then walked past her toward the door. She felt herself shiver slightly as he bent and kissed her cheek. "Good morning." He smelled of cinnamon.

"Reid," she said to stop him at the screen door. He turned and looked at her, and she realized that she had said his name with no other thought in her mind but to stop him and make him turn and look at her. "Uh," she stammered, "thanks, for the flowers." He smiled, shyly, and his eyes studied hers for a few moments before he stepped out of the door and disappeared. She stared at the screen door as it swung closed after him, keenly feeling his sudden absence.

~~/~~

When Elle returned from the doctor's appointment in the afternoon, the men were still on the roof. September had brought Indian Summer, and the heat of the day was intense. She stepped from her car and looked up at them, shading her eyes against the late afternoon sun. Reid looked down at her momentarily before continuing his hammering. She worried that with his shirt off he would be burned from the sun and the reflection on the metal shingles, and overheated. "Are you boys staying hydrated?" she called. Emilio smiled down, but no one answered.

She had walked into the house with a bag of groceries and was heading out for anther, when Reid met her at the door with two bags in his arms, his shirt draped over one arm. "I'll get the rest, Elle."

"Don't be silly," she said, brushing out past him.

When she came inside he was hastily pulling on his shirt. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, as he buttoned it.

"When did you become such a gentleman, Reid?" she teased. Then to soften it she added, "If we have a boy, you will have to teach him. To be like you, I mean."

"I hope that's a good thing," he sighed, but he was smiling.

"It is." She wanted to put her arms around him, to touch his face, as she had in the days before. Before the discomfort of the last evening's incident. She had enjoyed touching him, the connection to him. To her child's father. She had imagined sometimes, as her hand lay on his cheek, that the baby knew whom she was touching and took comfort in it. She wanted to lay her head on his shoulder again.

"Elle," he was saying now. "Is everything. . ." he nodded toward her stomach, "okay?"

"Perfect. Except that I'm getting fat." She rolled her eyes.

"Good! Oh, I mean. . ." he looked horrified at his own words, and she found it deliciously amusing to watch him fidgeting in embarrassment. She raised an eyebrow quizzically toward him.

"What do you mean, Reid?"

"Uh, well, you won't get _fat_ exactly. I mean, you're pregnant. You would naturally gain some weight. That is what I meant." He fiddled with the tail of his shirt. "I'm glad you are doing that. And that everything is okay."

"Oh, Reid. You're a dork." She walked to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Leaning her face against his chest, she inhaled the smell of his laundry detergent, and soap, and sweat. She sighed, overwhelmed with the comfort of it. _I love the way you smell._

Reid cautiously put his hands on her back. He took a big breath. "Elle, I think maybe we had a misunderstanding last night."

She stepped back and frowned. She picked at his shirt button. "We don't need to talk about it. It's okay. Just don't use me." She looked up at him squarely. "Simple."

"I didn't. I didn't use you." He looked away from her eyes. "I . . uh. . . Elle, there are things you don't understand. About me. About Ethan and me."

She stood looking at him, skeptical. Maybe impatient. She didn't want to revisit this issue. She wanted it to be comfortable again between them. Easy and uncomplicated and comfortable. No pretending. No kissing, no lies. No promises that didn't matter and wouldn't be kept.

Something in Elle didn't want to hear about Ethan. About how Reid had loved him and missed their relationship. Something told her that hearing it would hurt. Reid had been _his_. He had heard Reid's dreams and fears and secrets and known his quirks and habits. He'd had the privilege of laughing with him day after day, sleeping beside him, tasting him, touching him. She didn't want to hear Reid's memories, his longing. She couldn't.

"I'm sorry, Reid. I'm just so tired suddenly." And it was half true. "I really need to just. . .uh . . . lie down a bit. I'm sorry."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Really." She looked at the unpacked grocery bags. "I'll just finish this."

"I'll do it."

"Reid, don't fuss."

"When you aren't carrying my baby, I'll stop fussing. Go lie down." He stared her down.

"God you're stubborn," she said, smirking. "I hope your child isn't like that."

"_Our_ child will be like that, because you're even more stubborn."

Elle tried unsuccessfully not to give him a smile as she turned to leave.

~~/~~

"Hotch, Reilly is on the move." Morgan's voice on the other end of the phone pulled Hotch out of a deep sleep.

"What time is it?"

"It's almost 2:20 a.m. He has to be heading to Elle's." The local patrol that Morgan had posted outside Reilly's property had watched as Charles Reilly had exited his house, climbed into his pickup, and turned out onto the highway just minutes before.

"All right. Call Reid. Keep me posted. Both of you."

Morgan had been torn between wanting Reilly to make some kind of move already, so that they could end this anxiety and the danger to Elle - and on the other hand wanting it to all just go away so that they could bring Reid back. He had assumed it might take several days for Reilly to act, but this was just over one day since Reid had left. Now, he sat on the edge of his bed, feeling helpless. It was a good hour's drive even breaking the speed limit, and this time of night he could hit deer or other animals out there going at that speed.

Still, it could take Reilly time to get there, get organized, creep through the farmyard to the bunkhouse, and then take the victim out into the field. And he would have to isolate Emilio from the other hand, or kill them both. But how? At any rate, Reid and Elle were there without help. Local police wouldn't respond to a gut feeling, and if this was going down it would go down fast. Reid might need help in the aftermath. Morgan rose and pulled on jeans and a shirt, and grabbed his keys and gun off the nightstand. He flipped open his phone, not stopping as he strode to the door of his apartment and into the elevator to his car.

"Reid! Yeah, it's 2:30. Listen, Kid. Reilly is on the move. He's coming, Man. I'm on my way."

~~/~~


	21. Chapter 21

_Chapter Twenty-One  
><em>

"Tell me about Aubrey," Elle had said suddenly when earlier in the evening she and Reid were riding slowly back from the wooded hills behind her farm. Elle watched Reid handle his horse - practiced now, calm, graceful. He balanced easily with his legs the way an experienced rider would, and she smiled to remember how he had gripped the mane with one hand when she had first put him on a horse.

"Tell you about Aubrey. . ." he sighed, thinking. Elle saw him smile to himself.

"You were going to get married? YOU, Reid?" He glanced sideways at her, raising an eyebrow, and it made her laugh. "I'm sorry, I can't imagine you married."

"Me neither," he admitted, laughing. "But I just didn't feel there was any option. I wanted to be with her for good, you know?"

"You loved her."

"Of course. Of course I did." Reid listened to the clop-clop of their horses' hooves on the pavement. The road was quiet now in the late evening, and because there was little traffic, they had moved off the shoulder and onto the road to ride side by side.

"What was she like?"

Reid looked over at Elle. Her dark eyes were soft, polite, inquiring. His eyes fell subconsciously on the waves in her hair, the curve of her cheekbone.

"Was she pretty?" Elle was asking now.

"Yep, she was." _You are just as beautiful. And stronger._

"What else?"

Reid laughed loudly. "What do you want to know?"

"What was she _like_, Reid?"

"She was . . . warm. She. . she loved everyone. People were drawn to it. And kind. She was always kind."

"Like you. . ." Elle said softly.

"Oh, much more than I am. Much more." Reid smiled, and rode quietly for a bit. Then he said, "I felt so . . . calm with her. Like for once in my life everything made sense. Like I was who I was supposed to be. Where I was supposed to be."

Elle thought for a moment and then asked, "Would you two have had kids?"

"Oh Man! Oh Man, I don't know." He laughed.

"You didn't talk about it?"

"No. Not really. Everything just sort of always fell into place with us. We didn't have to plan things much. We always seemed to be thinking the same thing. We didn't talk about details, like the future. We were just happy being together."

"Sounds idyllic," Elle said, hating to hear a little sarcasm in her own voice. "What if she would have been pregnant? Would you have been okay with that?"

"Elle you ask the weirdest questions," Reid teased, but when she didn't laugh he said, "Sure. I don't know. I guess that if she would have been pregnant and happy, I would have gotten used to it." He added quietly, more to himself than to Elle, "I wanted to made Aubrey happy."

"In spite of your mom and the schizophrenia?" Elle persisted.

"It's like I said, things just seemed to happen with us, and always turned out great. I don't know. It isn't something I even thought about, Elle. I knew I wanted to marry her. I was tired of the long-distance thing, plane rides, missing each other. We hadn't got to the point where we talked about kids."

"Don't you think that was kind of important?" Elle cocked her head at him, perturbed.

"Why are you asking these things?" Reid said, equally annoyed with the tone the conversation was taking.

"I just don't get it Reid. You didn't talk about having a kid with your future wife? - your biggest fear? And did you not know you were gay when you were with her? You were a little old not to know that already! I hear this fairy tale, and I just don't get it. There was a lot of denial going on."

Reid was silent as they turned down the lane, and he spurred his horse ahead of hers as they rode up to the barn. Elle was not sorry about what she had said. It still stung when she thought of how he had been so traumatized about news of her pregnancy, and now he was so nonchalant about having a baby with a woman he happened to have loved. Or claimed to love - what was that about? Sure he had accepted that there was going to be a child between them, but it had been a rocky road to his acceptance, and he had dragged her along for that ride.

Inside the barn, Elle tied her horse beside his and began to loosen the buckles of the saddle's girth straps. He glanced at her as he came around her horse to take the saddle down. She sensed no anger. He stood holding the saddle and looked at her. "Elle, I was very much in love. I didn't think a lot of things through. And by the way, I'm not gay." He tweaked his eyebrows at her and walked to set her saddle on a wooden railing beside his. He calmly untied the horses and clucked his tongue to them as he turned them to walk to the stalls.

Elle stood watching him for a moment, and then walked after him. She stepped into a stall with him and handed him a brush for the horse. She measured her tone as they each brushed a side of the horse, asking quietly, "But you loved Ethan?"

He didn't answer and she thought that perhaps she had made him angry after all. But after a long while he said, "I loved the way Ethan made me feel. I loved that he rescued me when I needed it. He made me feel like. . . like I was the most important person, that the world needed me to live - that _he_ needed me to live. That there could be life beyond Aubrey."

Reid tapped the brush on the wall to get the dust out. "When I was with Ethan there was always hope. I guess I have been feeling like the rug was pulled out from under me. I had him to remind me of hope. Now I need to learn to remind myself again. . ." He trained off and Elle listened to the swishing of his brush on the horse.

She watched the horse's flank twitch under the touch of her brush. "Spencer," she said so softly that he stopped the brushing where he was on the other side of the horse to listen, "When you were with me . . .was that real?" Elle leaned her forehead against the warmth of the horse's side and closed her eyes. "I just need to know. If you were in this relationship with _him_, what happened that night between us?"

She heard him stop the brushing again. He ducked under the tie at the horse's head to stand beside her. She remained with her eyes closed, leaning on the horse, not wanting to see his face when he made his excuses. She could feel the warmth of his body as he stood beside her, and she listened to him breathing softly. The horse snorted and stomped in impatience. Reid lay a hand on his neck. "Shhhhhh."

"Elle. I . . ." he began. _Just say it. Tell me it was a mistake. A momentary whim. Say it, Spencer. I can take it._

But suddenly she felt his hand slide inside the flap of her jacket, and across her abdomen. She felt the warmth through her shirt.

"This is my hope now," he whispered. "You . . . _you_ are giving me this. I came to you that night, and I can't explain all the reasons. I _wanted_ to . . . to be with you. And what happened between us was no mistake. This . .. " he rubbed his hand over her softly, "is my hope." He took his hand from her and he lay it on her hair. She turned her head and looked at him, offering a half-smile.

"Come on," he said gently, "It's getting dark."

~~/~~

Morgan slowed to a slow roll until he could find the entrance to Elle's property in the dark. He pulled onto the shoulder and stopped. Reid had said that he would simply wait for Reilly to show up. They needed to allow Reilly to show what he was planning - interrupting could spook him and mean they would have nothing on him. As Morgan stepped out of the car, he could see no lights on the property. All was quiet. He trotted down the lane, keeping low to the ditch. He flipped open his phone and dialed Reid, knowing the young agent would have his phone on vibrate.

"Reid! Do you see anything?"

"Nothing, Man. The bunkhouse is quiet, and I haven't seen Reilly."

"He is going to come onto the farm in a different way, from a different direction, Reid. I have a feeling - watch the fields."

Elle awoke suddenly and felt a chill and a panic. _What is it?_ Her heart pounding, she jumped up out of bed and went to the window. She could see nothing amiss. The bunkhouse lights were out, all quiet. She went down the hallway to wake Reid, but found his door open and him gone. Elle turned and ran back to her room, where she slipped on sneakers and grabbed her gun from her nightstand. _Not tonight. You will not hurt Emilio on my watch!_

Reid crept to the back of the bunkhouse and scanned the fields in every direction. _This could go on all night,_ he thought. But the adrenaline pumping through him now would keep him up all night anyway. Now, with Morgan on the property too, they had a good chance of catching Reilly in the act. Reid thought of Elle back at the house, sleeping. He hadn't wakened her; she'd had enough stress lately, and at least this time he could keep more anxiety from her. With any luck he and Morgan would tie this up and she wouldn't know anything about it until morning brought her the good news that her employees were no longer in any danger.

"Reid," he heard Morgan whisper as he came around the corner of the building, "See anything?"

Their eyes met in the darkness. "No, nothing."

"Where's Elle?"

"In the house. I didn't wake her."

"He has to be headed here," Morgan said.

"Unless there is another potential victim nearby. . .someone who fits the profile. . ." Reid thought out loud.

"We have no way of knowing that. Besides, with this target so near, why would he be hunting another tonight?"

"Yeah, you're right, Morgan."

"Okay, Kid, I'm going to go back around front and watch . . ."

"Wait! Morgan! What is that?" Reid was pointing out into the north field, directly behind the house. "About two hundred yards from the road. What is that?"

Morgan could see movement. What looked like some sort of struggle, then a flash of light. Quiet.

"You think it's worth looking at?"

"Yeah."

"It will take us forever to walk out there Reid, and we don't want to alert him with a car engine. . ."

"Horse." Said Reid, striding toward the barn.

"What? Reid, you have to be kidding." Morgan trotted behind him.

"Stay here near the bunkhouse, Morgan. I'll go out there."

"Reid!" Morgan hissed after him into the night. But Reid was on a mission.

Five minutes later, Morgan saw the young doctor ride out of the barn and into the night. Morgan stationed himself at the front of the bunkhouse, watching and waiting. He thought about the two men inside, oblivious to the danger and the activity just under their windows. But warning them would change their pattern of behavior, and the lure for Reilly would be ruined. It was easier to just protect them and reel Reilly in, than to keep hunting Reilly for months. Or lose him.

From where she stood on the front porch of the house, Elle saw Reid ride out of the barn. _He's seen something._ She suddenly realized that the gun was shaking. Her hands were shaking. She sat down on the steps and lay the gun beside her. The pregnancy had turned her into someone she didn't know. She had never lost her nerve, back at the BAU. Now, her mind kept going to the baby in her womb, her heartbeat rate, her stress level rising, and Reid in danger. She had never worried about the safety of another team member in the heat of the chase. Never. They were all well-trained, they were all smart and careful. So many times they all came out unscathed, that she had learned to trust in their abilities and in fate. Only once had fate failed her, when she awoke from a nap on her own sofa, in her own home, and met the barrel of a gun and the awful sound of it firing. Then nothing. Now, she sat looking down at her trembling fingers and wondered if this was due to the pregnancy or to her own shooting those years ago. Or to the fact that Reid was out there, alone. _Reid, be careful._ She hugged herself and shivered against the cool air of the night.

Reid rode hard at the outer perimeter of the field. When he was near the spot where he had first seen the commotion, he cut across the field at a slow trot. His eyes scanned the road for a parked vehicle, but he couldn't see into the dark and surrounding trees. There was no light. He squinted into the pasture grass, slowing the horse to a walk. Then he saw it.

He slid off the horse, drew his gun, and walked toward the form lying motionless on the ground. "F.B.I." He moved his shoe against the leg of the man, and got no movement. He turned the body over with his foot, and looked into the face of Charles Reilly. Reid dropped to a squat and felt for the man's jugular vein. He felt a stickiness on his hand and only then saw the blood on the side of Reilly's head; it had run into this collar and neck area. His hair was matted, and Reid could see that the side of his head was flattened slightly.

He flipped open his phone. "Morgan, Reilly is here. He's dead. Looks like a head wound. . . yeah, I'll be back in a few." Suddenly Reid remembered Elle's words. _It's a woman, Reid._ "A woman. . ." he said out loud to himself, looking at Reilly's body. Then he lifted his head, his mind flying. His eyes darted to the outbuildings and he gasped. _She's watching._

~~/~~


	22. Chapter 22

_Chapter Twenty-Two  
><em>

Reid rode hard across the pasture, directly toward the bunkhouse. As he approached he could see Morgan, still waiting beside the front of the building. He slowed to a walk and dismounted, tying the horse to a low tree branch. Morgan walked to meet him. "I think it's a woman, Morgan." Reid looked around them nervously.

"How could a woman have beaten these people, Reid? There was no sign of a gunshot wound on anyone."

"What about a taser? That's good a minimal fifteen feet from the subject. Repeated bursts cause further incapacity and can even cause ventricular fibrillation which in some individuals can be fatal. I am wondering, Morgan, if this person is using a taser in combination with some similar electronic device like an electric prod to incapacitate her victims long enough to administer a severe blow to the head. These murders have possibly all occurred under cover of darkness, and it would be easy for her to hit someone from the back as they walked in front of her. She would have lured them out into the field. And all she has to do is to stop them fighting for a few minutes, long enough to further injure them or torture them, and finally kill them . . . "

Morgan looked at Reid's face, thinking through Reid's explanation. "Makes sense. Reilly is a big man. You said there's a head wound?"

"Yeah. I couldn't check for electric burns in the dark."

Morgan looked around the farm. "You think the unsub is still coming?"

"She surely saw the horse when I rode back. If she is still around. I don't know Morgan, I think we're through for the night."

"Okay, it's almost five." Morgan flipped open his phone, "Yeah, this is the F.B.I., Special Agent Derrick Morgan. We have a body out at the farm of Elle Greenaway, in the north pasture. . . Yes, we are still on the premises. Thanks."

Reid stood biting his lip, looking around at the outbuildings.

"Wait, Ried," Morgan said, "Why do you think it's a woman?"

"Uh. . . gut feeling. . ." Reid muttered as his gaze fell on the house. Elle had been so certain that it was a woman, and he found that he couldn't ignore her instincts, as illogical as it seemed. The sun was coming up now, throwing an orange glow on the front porch. Elle would be up soon, and would be surprised to see Morgan and the police around the property, and it would cause her more stress. And Reid was becoming increasingly concerned about the toll this case was taking on her health. He was thinking about this, and how fond he had become of that porch, when he noticed a figure hunched over on the steps. He ran to the house, leaving Morgan looking after him. "Elle?" He knelt beside her and lifted her into his arms. "Baby?"

Morgan stepped up behind him, "What happened?"

"I don't know . . . " said Reid, holding her and checking her pulse, the color of her lips and mouth. "Elle?"

Morgan stooped and picked up the gun off the porch steps. "She's carrying?"

Reid glanced up at the gun. Elle moved and moaned softly. "I think she fainted. Call for a bus." Reid looked at her thin pajama top and laid her down carefully and took off his jacket, then picked her up and wrapped it around her. He pulled her onto his lap and sat rocking her, a worried frown creeping between his brows.

Morgan, having called for medics, watched Reid holding her and his mind flashed back to another night. Another unsub. And Reid cradling a young woman close to himself in the backseat of an SUV - that young woman he had almost married. Back on that night, Morgan had been amazed at the sight of Reid - someone who shied from human touch so often - holding the girl close in his arms, and whispering soothingly to her for the entire trip back to town from the Amish farm. And now Morgan saw the same tenderness in Reid that had surprised him that night long ago when he had watched the younger man comfort a terrified Aubrey after a hostage situation. _Elle. Look at him. Look at his face. He loves her._

"Dammit, how long will it take them to get out here?" breathed Reid. Elle stirred in his arms and he brushed her hair back with his hand, studying her face, the unsub long forgotten.

~~/~~

"Reid, I want to go home. I mean it. I am not staying in town - I'll go insane."

"Yes, you are," said Reid as he unlocked the door to his apartment. "I'm sorry, I know you hate this."

"I hate you acting like this! Don't tell me what's good for me!" Elle stood hunched against the wall opposite, her arms folded defiantly. She detested being spoken to like a child, being directed. Having her choices taken away. Even when she knew he was right.

"The doctor told us what's good for you," he answered gently, opening the door.

Elle sniffed and walked into the apartment. "I'll go crazy."

"It's only until we wrap up the case. Hotch is sending the whole team down today, so it won't be long."

Reid went to the kitchen and found a spare key in a drawer. "Look, here are the keys to the car, and I am adding the key to the apartment." He held out the keys to Elle, but she was gazing around the room and didn't notice. He watched her standing in the middle of the living room, looking around, looking lost, and it occurred to him then that she had never even been to his apartment. She still wore his jacket, the only one she had with her after he had put it over her shoulders on the porch that morning, and inside its largeness she looked very small somehow. The worry lines in her face were deep today; she looked tired, like the trauma to her body - the doctor had said that she was absolutely exhausted - was just beginning. He knew that she was angry, and he knew that he didn't have a right to railroad her. But he also knew that he would protect their child regardless, and that something deep in him would drive him to protect her too - even from herself.

He walked to her and took her hand in his, studying it, searching for any words that would reassure her. Her hand suddenly seemed to be small and soft and frail, and he raised it to his mouth and kissed her palm - which made her suddenly breathe in sharply. He met her eyes briefly, and glanced away again. "Elle, I know you don't like being told what to do. But this isn't about you, it's about the baby . . . and you. Things might get worse at the farm before they get better. You will be away from it here. You can rest. Please, Elle, I . . . I want you to be safe. Both of you . . "

Elle listened to the quirky breaks in his voice and realized how fond she had grown of the sound, despite not wanting to be fond of Reid at all, at this moment. He grimaced slightly - unsure of himself, still studying her hand. "I'm not used to hearing you telling me what to do, Reid." She watched for his response.

"Why. . . uhm . . ." he cleared his throat, "Why is it so hard for you to let someone take care of you?" The tone was sincere, with no trace of judgment. He looked up into her eyes then.

She looked back at him, unblinkingly. "Because I don't need it."

"But. . . maybe sometimes you do."

She removed her hand from his and stuffed her hands into the pockets of his jacket. "I have taken care of myself for a long time."

"I know," he said. Then he added, "So have I. I mean, until Ethan."

She looked at him, standing there uncertainly, staring at his shoes. "I guess you'll have to learn to do that again now?"

He smiled, sheepishly. "Well, I did okay with it before. I mean, before the Dilaudid."

She sighed and sat down on the sofa. "You'll take care of the horses, right?"

"Esteban and Emilio are there too. We'll be fine."

"They'll think I've abandonned them."

Reid noticed that the evening light was getting low and switched on the table lamp. He sat down beside her. "Prentiss is bringing a few groceries, I mean until you feel like going shopping. I will send up a cop tomorrow from Louisa with some of your clothes and things . . . you are welcome to anything in my closet."

"Great. Sweater vests and corduroys."

He nodded and laughed softly. "Yeah. There might be a few other things. . ." He looked at his watch. "Prentiss will be here in a few minutes."

Elle's heart fell at his words. The thought of him leaving her alone in this unfamiliar place was suddenly overwhelming. "Spencer, please take me home. . ." she whispered, looking away from him.

He watched her for a few moments, heard her take in a few quick breaths, saw her wipe at her face. She said, "I never cry. I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm sorry I'm being such a . . ."

He leaned and pressed his lips to the back of her hair. He lay his head against her shoulder and sighed. "I don't mind . . . I like taking care of you. Even if you don't like me to."

"You're a born mother hen, Reid."

"Only with you." They sat there like that for several minutes. When the buzzer rang they both jumped.

"That's Prentiss." Reid stood and went to the intercom to buzz her up. "I'll go help her."

Elle wiped at her eyes again and stood up, taking off his jacket. He'd be needing it. After he went out the door, she held it to her face, inhaling his scent. Then she felt her eyes well up again, and cursed. _I never want to be pregnant again after this. Never._

She was returning from the bedroom, pulling a cardigan around her shoulders, when Reid and Prentiss came in with the groceries. Reid excused himself for the bathroom, and left them to put the food away. "Hey, Elle," smiled Emily, "Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah, I guess so." Elle felt odd, making small talk with the agent who had taken her place at the BAU. "Yes. Reid is holding me prisoner, so no one need worry."

Emily placed the last of the fruit in the refrigerator and smiled at her again. "Reid is so excited about the baby. He is just taking care of you." Elle was surprised at her words. Could that be true then? That he was _excited_ about the baby?

Elle returned the smile with reticence. It was always difficult for her to meet new people. She wasn't shy exactly - she never had been. But it was her nature to be a bit distrustful of people's motives. And at this moment, she wished sincerely that her natural reserve wouldn't offend Prentiss.

"I guess," she offered, "that it's hard for me to be taken care of." She realized that Reid had always been perceptive, when it came to her own true nature. He had always told her the truth about herself, going back to when she was with the BAU and they had become friends. Even when she didn't want to hear it.

Emily laughed at that. "I hear you! Especially by a _man_." Then Emily was serious, "I hope the time goes fast, and you can go home again." Elle nodded, grateful for the understanding.

"You ready to go?" Reid appeared around the corner.

"Yep." Emily glanced from Reid to Elle. "I'll start down."

"I'm right behind you," he said, looking at Elle. She handed him his jacket.

He stepped toward her and shyly stroked her arm. "I'll call you every day. I promise this won't be long. Please try to just relax, okay?" He bent to kiss her cheek.

And then suddenly Elle was watching him cross through the living room toward the door, pulling on his jacket, and a terrible panic rose in her that she didn't understand and didn't have time to question. "Reid!"

He turned to look at her, and his face was handsome, so familiar to her, so dear. She suddenly had her hands on it, and she kissed his mouth hungrily, surprising herself, missing him before he was even out the door.

He stepped back, and she heard his breath coming harder. He cleared his throat. He stared at her face. "Bye," he whispered and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

She stood looking at the doorknob where his hand had been only moments before. She wondered if, with the honest gesture of a lover's kiss, she had made a big mistake.

~~/~~


	23. Chapter 23

_Chapter Twenty-Three_

Reid looked up from the coffee pot and watched the SUV pull into the drive in front of the house. Morgan glanced out the window, "Well, now that cops and FBI are crawling over the place, we won't see the unsub coming here again."

"Yeah, at least Emilio will be safe," answered Reid and handed Morgan a cup of coffee.

"At least when he's _here_," countered Morgan.

The team filed into the farmhouse kitchen, looking out of place in formal attire - Hotch in a suit, Emily in a black suit, JJ in a pair of dark trousers and pink sweater, Rossi in a blazer. Reid smiled to himself, thinking how much his own appearance must be out of place for them - in jeans and one of the gray sweatshirts Elle had given him. But he had been out earlier to help with chores; the farm was no place for sweater vests and dress shirts. He sighed, missing Elle's presence in the house.

"So what now?" Morgan asked.

"We have some preliminary forensics on Reilly's body," answered Hotch,"and there were several blows to the head, and oddly, some electrical burns to the back and torso."

Morgan and Reid exchanged glances. "Hotch, Reid suggested to me yesterday that this might be a woman, using a taser and something like a cattle prod."

The team's silence spoke volumes about their skepticism. Prentiss frowned, Rossi looked at Hotch, Hotch stared at Reid, JJ looked down at her files. "Explain," said Hotch.

Morgan continued, "A woman could disable Reilly with those weapons, long enough to administer a fatal blow to the head. I think it makes sense."

"A woman? Why a woman?" Rossi said what the rest were thinking.

"Look," said Reid,"I can't really explain this logically. It's a sort of a hunch."

"YOU can't explain this logically, Reid?" teased Prentiss.

"I think the evidence of the burns merits some consideration," pressed Reid, standing his ground.

"So what now?" said Morgan. "We didn't catch this unsub here, where do we go now?"

"The question is," said JJ, "why was Reilly here? And why kill him?"

"We need to re-examine Reilly's relationships, acquaintances, and see what we find," said Hotch. Then he looked at Reid pointedly, "Let's look at women as well as men."

Reid turned to the sink to make himself busy with drying breakfast dishes, and felt his ears burning. He had pushed a theory that belonged not to himself but to Elle, and based upon what? Upon some visionary sense she claimed to possess? Surely it was far more logical to assume that another man had overpowered and attacked Reilly. Still, he felt a strange loyalty to her, and found that no matter how loudly his own voice of reason protested, he had to believe in her. At least until he knew differently.

"We need to go back to Richmond," suggested Rossi. "That's where Reilly came from, that's where each of the kids came from."

"You're right," said Hotch.

"At the same time, the unsub is operating here, exclusively," said Morgan.

"We have to find a way to stay ahead of this unsub," said Prentiss, "if we don't want any more bodies."

"All right," said Hotch,"Rossi, Prentiss and I will head to Richmond. We may end up staying a night there. JJ, you stay here with Reid and Morgan, talk to people in Louisa, see what you learn."

Reid turned to face the team, drying his hands on a dishtowel. "I think I want to talk to Emilio again. I mean, we have been treating him like a sitting duck, but we haven't really delved deeply into what he remembers about Reilly."

"Good," said Hotch. "Let's stay in touch, reconnect in the morning."

"I'll uh . . . stay out here with Reid," said Morgan.

After the others had said their goodbyes and left again to climb into the SUV, Reid stopped Morgan on the porch, laying a hand on his arm. "Uh. . .thanks, Man, for backing me up."

"No problem, Kid. It makes sense." Then he looked at Reid, "You say it's a hunch? You don't get hunches."

"Yeah. . .," Reid looked out across the field. "Actually it was Elle's hunch. But lately, her instincts pan out. I think she may be right about this."

Morgan sighed and leaned against the post. He stared at the floor of the porch, thinking.

"What?" said Reid, watching him.

"Nothing," Morgan smiled to himself, looking up and away from Reid's eyes. "I just. . . you . . . you uh, you and Elle. I see something. You are really into her, Reid."

Reid didn't answer for a long time, and Morgan was afraid he had stirred up old wounds with a careless comment. Then Reid said, "Have you talked to Ethan lately?"

"No, I told you. We don't talk. He didn't call after. . .I just didn't feel like he wanted to."

"Do you want him to?" Reid asked quietly and looked at Morgan, squinting into the sun.

"Want him to what?"

"Call you. See you."

Reid saw Morgan's face change as a shadow passed over it. He shuffled his feet. His jaw twitched. "That doesn't matter now, Pretty Boy."

"Why?"

"REID!" Morgan raised his arms in frustration and laughed, "Come on, Man. Let's don't talk about this. It's over."

"I'm asking you Morgan. Do you still think about him?"

"Yes! Yes . . .yes. I do." Morgan looked away again. "But I value your friendship. I'll get over that. I wouldn't get over losing this." Morgan walked to the end of the porch, where Reid couldn't read his face, "I went crazy, when you were so . . pissed off. When we couldn't even talk to each other. You're my brother. And you were right. You were right. I did some things I shouldn't have. I will always, always, hate that I did that to you, Man. I can't undo it, but I can be a better friend."

Reid gazed at Morgan's back, thinking, and bit his lip. Then he turned and quietly went into the house.

~~/~~

"Ethan, it's me."

"Spencer."

"Uh. . .how are you?"

Pause. Silence. "As good as can be expected. You?"

Longer pause. "I'm . . . I need to tell you something."

Soft laugh. "Okay. . ."

"Uh . . . it's about Morgan."

Pause. Sigh. "Morgan."

"You said once that you wanted to see what was there."

"Uhmm. Yeah, well. That was dumb. I need to stay away. He's your friend."

"I need you to do something for me."

" . . . Yeah?"

Deep breath. Another. "I need you to call Morgan. I need you to see him. I need you to. . "

"Spencer, don't, Man. . ."

Impatience. "Don't! Don't interrupt, Ethan, please. I have to get through this. I need you to see him and see where it goes. I know you want to. I know he wants you to. I don't want to be the reason you never found out if it meant something."

Softly, "Spencer, you don't have to do this. Spencer, you don't."

"You broke my heart, Ethan. _You_ left _me_. Now I'm asking you," deep breath, hand wiped across his eyes, "I need you to do this. It will make things right. For me."

Silence. Contemplation sounds over the phone. "What if he doesn't want to hear from me? It's been a while."

"Trust me Ethan. Don't think. Just do this. Let me ask you something. You tell me the truth?"

"Spencer, of course. Of course I will . . ."

"Morgan told me . . . he told me you said once _I will always love Spencer_ . . did you say that?"

Silence. More silence.

"Did you say that?" A loud sniff. A clumsy clearing of the throat. "Did you?"

"I did."

"You have to prove it wrong. You have to stop thinking it. You have to . . . Oh God," and the voice is breaking now, unashamed, "you have to find someone now. If it's Morgan, you have to find Morgan."

"Spencer . . no . . " and now the other's voice is breaking, the voice that never does.

"It's time. Call him Ethan. Today. Call him. Do this for me. Because you lo . . . because you loved me once."

~~/~~

Elle woke early, surprised that she had slept so deeply. She opened her eyes and looked around the sunny room. Spencer's room.

He had shown her the guest room the evening before when he brought her here, and had laid out towels and sweats on the bed in there. After he and Prentiss had left, she had gone into the guest room and sat on the side of the bed, feeling lost. Trying not to imagine the farm lying out in the coming night, the mist hanging low over the fields that smelled now of damp earth. The light turning orange, and pink, and dropping lower. She had been jealous that Spencer was going there without her.

She had looked around the room at the books in the floor to ceiling shelves - a glimpse into his world: science, engineering, architecture, history. Books in German, Spanish, French. Novels in what she imagined must be Russian. A book on the study of Middle English poetry. Her gaze had fallen upon his computer and she had wondered if there might be found some photographs there - of the girl, the one he had loved and lost. Aubrey, that was her name. He had said she was pretty, and suddenly Elle wanted to see for herself. But the computer was shut down, and Elle had no idea what a password would be. Her mind felt too tired to figure it out now.

She had wandered through the apartment, looking at bookshelves, walls, searching for a photograph. Nothing. Elle thought about how odd this was. The girl had been dead over a year, but surely there had been photos and a lot of them. Had he hidden them all from himself? Destroyed them in a moment of grief?

Finally, she had found a photo on the kitchen wall. It was of Reid and a dark, good-looking young man. Ethan. Must be. The other's arm was draped across Reid's shoulders, and Reid leaned into him, content, smiling.

After fixing herself something to eat, she found herself exhausted. The day had been stressful - it hadn't occurred to her that the baby wouldn't be all right. Elle knew she would be. But Elle had seen the concern in Reid's eyes, the furrow between his brows as he spoke to the emergency room doctor. Thinking about it now, she felt the familiar flutter in her stomach that she always felt when Reid got overly protective - a mix of annoyance, amazement and gratitude. She never knew which emotion to settle upon.

Elle had started turning down the bed in the guest room when she suddenly felt something that had become all too familiar in the past few months - a longing for Reid. For him to be a few doors down the hall. But now he was far away again. She crossed the hall into his bedroom and flipped on the lightswitch; a bedside lamp illuminated the room softly. She stood staring at his bed - _his bed_ - and imagined him there. A book lay on the nightstand: Advances in Forensics: The Discovery and Use of DNA in Animal Fibers. _Good grief, Reid._ She smiled to herself and made a mental note to replace the book with some mindless supermarket tabloid before he came back.

She sat on the side of the bed and opened the nightstand drawer. Lip balm. Cough drops. Kleenex. And a photo, face down. Elle picked it up carefully and slowly turned it over. Her heart pounded as she examined the image. Reid, leaning against a railing, his arms around a truly beautiful girl. She was laughing, looking up at him, her red-brown curls lying around her shoulders. He was looking at the camera, his face filled with . . . what was that? A contentment and peace that she hadn't seen in him before. Not years ago at the BAU, and not since. _Oh, Reid. I'm so sorry._ And along with pity, she felt something else - a sort of hunger to be the one who could make his face look like that. A sort of sorry not to have been.

Elle shrugged the thought off and put the photo back into the drawer, face down the way she had found it. She wondered how often he took it out and looked at it. She wondered why he kept it face down in the drawer, and not out on the nightstand. She sighed and turned the bed down, leaning to pick up the pillow to fluff it. She caught her breath as she saw what was beneath it. Staring up at her was her own face - a collection of photos in a frame. A sort of handmade collage. Here she was riding, grooming a horse, laughing, being pensive, reading as she rested a hand on her belly. These were not photos of the farm, or photos that showed her incidental presence with some other more important subject. These were pictures of her face. Of _her_.

She sat looking at the photos with her mouth open, letting it sink in - that he kept this, he kept _her_ under his pillow. She sat this way for a few minutes. "Oh, God, Elle, stop it," she groaned to herself, rolling her eyes, as she rose to go wash the tears off her face.

~~/~~

"Reid?"

"Hey, Elle. How are you?"

"Pissed to be stuck here. How are you?"

"I mean how do you feel?"

"I know what you mean. Don't fuss."

"Get used to it."

"You've become awfully full of yourself."

"I got you pregnant. I am full of myself."

"Congratulations, you're a man now."

He laughs. "Are you being good?"

She ignores the question. "What's going on?"

He knows she likes to be included. She is smart and needs to use her mind, the way he does. He understands that part of her. Like he understands a lot of things about her. Instinctively. "We are going back to Richmond, looking deeper into his background. I'm going to talk to Emilio today. Uh . . . Elle. . .I suggested it's a woman. We're looking seriously at that possibility."

She smiles without his seeing. "Good. You should."

Uncomfortable silence. "Uh, the horses are good. The house is. . . quiet. Well, Morgan is here. But . . he doesn't drink tea and rub my back at night."

She wished that she were there to rub his back, to touch him now. "Lucky for you. Does he snore?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Did I?" She asks before she thinks.

Nervous silence. She feels heat creep across her face.

"Uh, well, I'm going to go find Morgan. I'll keep you posted. . ."

"Reid?"

"Yeah?"

"Call me tonight?"

"Of course. I will, I promise. Uh. . . bye."

_He always seems to say goodbye first._ Elle sits staring at the cell phone, feeling keenly the absence of his voice. She knows that she is in trouble now. She has to admit it. She needs him. She wants him. She feels herself shaking. Not the shooting, not leaving the BAU, not the pregnancy, nothing has terrified her like this moment. Realizing that she wants Spencer Reid like she's never wanted any other man in her life.


	24. Chapter 24

_Chapter Twenty-Four_

Emilio was not himself. He wasn't sleeping. He could hardly eat, and then only when Esteban ordered him to do it. Only work kept him sane - physical work and lots of it. The incident at the farm had frightened him deeply. "It was in the night, Senor Reid. It came in the _night_. How am I supposed to sleep now?" He wearily tossed a bale of hay down to Reid.

Reid had noted the new worry lines in the young man's face, a sudden sobering of his usual jokey demeanor. He nodded and cleared his throat. "It's perfectly natural that you would be . . . . sort of freaked out, Emilio. But I assure you, you are safer on the farm than off it at this point."

Emilio hopped down from the hay pile. He shrugged at Reid. "I will keep working, because Senora needs me to. But I wish I could leave this place now."

"We are going to catch the person doing this, Emilio, I swear to you that we will." Reid frowned and watched Emilio cut the twine on the bales. "Uh . . what do you remember about Reilly? About when you knew him in Richmond?"

"He was a nice man. He taught me a lot about horses. My family . . . we were immigrants, and I didn't have many friends. Then I started working for Mr. Reilly and he taught me and my brother about horses, and about riding."

"Emilio, were you there the night his daughter died?"

Emilio paused and looked at Reid briefly, before loading the hay into the wheelbarrow. "Yes, I was there. There were a lot of kids there."

"It was a party."

"Yes, a party. In the barn."

"What happened?"

"She fell. She was goofing off, hanging out of the window. She fell. She didn't fall very far, you know, but she broke her neck."

"You saw it?"

"Yes, I was standing right there."

"Emilio, who else was standing close?"

Emilio paused again, remembering. Suddenly his face changed. He stared at Reid, wide-eyed, "Senor, it was the two who are dead. The two who were here, who were buried here."

"Who else? Think, Emilio."

"It was a girl named Penny. And a boy named, uhmm, Jared."

"Penny Thurgood. Jared Wills."

"Yes."

"Anyone else? It's important Emilio. Think hard."

"No. We were in the hay loft. Six of us. She fell."

"Emilio, I need you to promise me you won't leave this farm. Not for any reason, okay?" Reid strode out of the feed room, flipping open his phone. "Hotch? Each of the kids who were in the hay loft with Reilly's daughter are dead. Except Emilio."

~~/~~

Elle jumped when her phone rang at 7:30, startled. She had pushed away a feeling of foreboding all day long. When she saw that it was Reid she panicked. He always called very late in the evening or early in the morning. Not this early, in the middle of chores at the end of the day. Her first thought was that something bad had happened to Emilio.

"Reid? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Uh, Hi."

She sighed. "You scared me. What's up?"

"Nothing. How are you?"

"Well, a little better, thanks to your bitchin' stereo and a supply of CD's I broke down and bought today. Do you remember, Reid, when I tried to teach you to salsa?"

Reid laughed with her. He remembered himself as a young, shy kid who was horrified when one night at a staff party, the sexiest woman in the F.B.I. put her hands on him and started moving in a way he had never been exposed to before. She had guided him with her hands and hips, and told him to close his eyes and listen to the music. He remembered Morgan's laugh. He had seen Hotch had raised a drink to his lips and manage a smile at the sight of Reid's stumbling, before he closed his eyes and let her take him where he feared, into wanting things and wanting someone he couldn't have. That had been years ago, and he had told himself that it was a boy's crush.

He had been embarrassed that his physical excitement had been noticed, and he had lain awake for some number of nights wondering if anyone knew. He had remembered and relished those moments long after Elle had left - the feel of her hips under his hands, her body pressed up against his. The smell of her. The flash in her eyes, teasing, that confused him - he had never known with her whether it was condescension or amusement. Even then, she had mesmerized him, befuddled him.

It had been a matter of some pride to him that Elle Greenaway had come to consider him a friend - young, awkward Spencer Reid, who never had a date. But he had had Elle's trust in the end. Many times they had shared a glance in the midst of a terror-filled moment, a pat on the knee, a laugh. He had known instinctively that she would tell him things she told no one else - like about the day she was shot and left for dead. He had begun, after many months, to begin to trust her too. He had almost begun to confide in her. But then she had left, without a goodbye to him. Just like Gideon. Like so many in his life.

The pregnancy intrigued him. It meant that she couldn't ever really leave him now. She had to allow the child to stay in touch with him, and that would keep him in touch with her. That child was a tie between them. As Ethan had said, a bond that would be for life. So in addition to his mother, two people - three with the child - in this world would be tied to him whether they liked it or not. Three that he would always be able to say that somehow, he belonged to.

"Elle . . you said once that I am different. How?"

"You're older Reid. Isn't it obvious?"

"No. I really want to know. This is the second time we are friends, Elle. What has changed?"

"What do you mean, the second time?"

"Last time wasn't real. You left."

"Reid, I left but that doesn't mean. . .look, I'm sorry I left like that."

"You might do it again. Right?"

Elle slowly sat down on the sofa, trying to decipher the meaning behind his words. Reid so often, when emotional, spoke in puzzles. _He thinks I'll leave. Like Gideon. Like Ethan. Like his father._ Her heart began to pound so hard that she thought she would have trouble speaking if she tried. Elle Greenaway wasn't accustomed to letting the wall down, any more than was Spencer Reid. She thought that she could hear him dancing around the subject, the way she had to. Dancing around any real admission that there was something real and lasting between them. But she thought suddenly that maybe he was asking now, if she could stay with him. If she would.

"Reid, listen to me. I'm going to say something that I swear to God I will kill you for if you make me regret it. I . . . Spencer . . . you are different now. You grew up while I was gone. I . . . I find myself," she cleared her throat, hating that she sounded like a teenager. "I want to be with you. I want you." She whispered, surprising herself by the tenderness in her own voice, "I want you, I do. But I don't want you with me because you feel some sort of obligation. I would rather not have you at all, than have you that way. I want you to really want me. I . . God, Reid . . . I hurt for you, wanting you. I want you to hurt like that. For me. "

The silence that met her terrified her. Then it worried her. Then it made her angry. "Reid?"

Elle was embarrassed now. She had stripped herself naked, and he had chosen to throw her a sheet. Twice now she had made a fool of herself for this man. When she allowed him to kiss her and then felt he was trying to forget Ethan, and now again. "Uh, Reid, forget it. I'm sorry. Look, we're friends, okay? I don't need anything from you. I don't need you. If you want to be around fine. Just. . .don't put your hands on me ever again unless you mean it." She laughed, bitter now, not caring if her words stung him, "Like you ever would. You know what Reid? On second thought don't bother. Ever."

She was shaking now, with anger and emotion. She looked at the gathering dusk in the living room of his apartment and wished with all she was that she had never said anything. That she wasn't so stupid and foolish, prattling on about wanting him. She sounded like she was begging. It made her sick. Reid would end up with some sweet little thing, who would wring her hands over him and do whatever he wanted. She herself was just too much woman for him. He couldn't handle it. Real passion. Real, desperate desire. That was it.

"Reid!" She heard him speaking to someone else, and found it offensive that he would do so in the middle of one of the most important conversations that they had ever had. Or at least _she_ knew that. After several seconds of waiting for him to come back, she hung up. Then like a wounded young girl who had been stood up for a date, she sobbed.

~~/~~

Reid had just heard the words he had thought Elle would never say to him, when he saw a shadow from the corner of his eye. The barn was darkening with the falling light, and he had put off turning on the lights, wanting to call Elle and get the last horse blanketed. He turned to see her standing there, between himself and the barn door the light outside silhouetting her body and making it difficult to see the expression on her face. But she stood very still, and he knew that she must be staring at him.

His mind calculated quickly - how many feet were between her and his body? He scanned her hands for the taser, squinting into the dimming light. "Ma'am, just stay calm. Let's just talk about it." He knew he wouldn't be her chosen victim - that was Emilio. And Emilio was generally in the barn at this time of day but Reid had let him off early, knowing that he wasn't sleeping. He knew that she must be surprised to see Reid here alone instead. He knew that he was dealing with an unstable mind, and a deceptive one. He let the phone fall to the ground and raised his hands into the air.

~~/~~

No sooner had she flipped the phone closed when Elle found herself staring through her tears at the phone as if it had a message for her. She took a few minutes to cry out her humiliation and frustration, but she felt a strange, insistent anticipation, as if she were waiting for something to happen. Then she saw Reid's face, his eyes, and the look in them caused her to involuntarily drop the phone. _Something's wrong!_ She knew it. She knew it in every fiber of her body. He was in trouble.

She picked up the phone from the floor, cursing her shaking hands as she tried to finger the buttons. "Dammit!" she swore and reached to turn on the table lamp. She nearly tipped it over, and grabbed it to save it from falling. She firmly fingered the switch and illuminated it. Now she could clearly see the keys on the phone. _Morgan. Morgan. Find Morgan._ It was ringing.

"Morgan! Morgan. . something is wrong!"

"What? Elle?"

"Something is wrong! Where the fuck ARE you?" She marveled at the tremor in her own voice, as if she were listening to someone else. Some other hysterical person.

"Elle? Is something wrong with the baby? Wait, I'll get Reid!"

"Morgan! Where is he? Something is wrong with Reid!"

Morgan stopped, breathing, digesting her words. "He's in the barn. What do you mean?"

Elle was moaning the words now, choking on tears. "Morgan, something is wrong. Please! Get to him!"

Morgan tossed the phone aside and tore down the stairs of the farm house, out through the door, across the drive. "Reid!"

His eyes met near darkness in the barn, but as they quickly adjusted he could see a figure in front of him. "Morgan! Careful! Stay back!" Reid was warning him.

The warning was coming too late and Morgan knew it. He was only maybe ten, twelve feet from her, before he realized. With his last thought, he drew his gun and tossed it to the dark figure in the aisle that he was just beginning to make out - Reid. He felt the burning jolt immediately, felt his muscles give, and fell to the ground.

~~/~~

"Hotch? Hotch?"

"Elle?"

"Where are you?" Elle gritted her teeth against her shaking jaw.

"In a hotel in Louisa, why?"

"Something is happening at the farm. Now. Get out there, Hotch. Morgan and Reid are in trouble."

"Elle, how do you know..."

"Do you want to argue with me?" She was yelling now into the phone, "Just get out there!"

She flipped the phone closed. _I have done everything I can now. Everything I can, Spencer. Oh, please be smart. Please be okay._ She hugged her knees to her chest and tried to breathe. She saw his face, his eyes focused now, but still frightened. She saw the glint of gun metal. And then the woman. _Who is that?_ A face she didn't know. But the eyes in that face were wild, devoid of reason, intent on killing. _I am looking at his killer. I am seeing her face. She is killing Spencer._ She rolled onto her side on the sofa, still hugging her legs, squeezing her eyes tight as if doing so would stop the pictures from coming. But they kept coming anyway.

~~/~~


	25. Chapter 25

_Chapter__ Twenty-Five  
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Morgan lay on the ground, the feeling just beginning to come back into his limbs. He tried to sit up, and felt as if he were moving in slow motion. The unsub moved toward him again, holding the taser out in front of her - another jolt laid him flat. He could see the tiny wires attached to his shirt, leading to the taser.

"This is your final warning. I don't want to shoot you, Sarah. Put the weapon DOWN," came Reid's voice. Morgan looked into her face. Sarah Mayford's eyes were far away, looking through him. They had taken on the look of an unsub who has made a decision and has slipped into a private reality where that decision makes sense only to the unsub. Morgan knew the look well. She looked down and reached into the pocket of her barn jacket with a trembling hand, and slowly withdrew a revolver. "Reid..." Morgan tried and failed to speak, to warn Reid.

She turned slowly to face Reid. "He didn't understand me. He left me. He didn't care about our girl. Those boys killed her. They pushed her. Charlie didn't understand. I had to kill him." Her eyes pled her case to Reid.

Reid adjusted his stance. "Put the gun down. We can talk if you put the gun down. Charlie tried to stop you, but he tried to protect you too. I understand. Put your weapon down. Sarah, I don't want to shoot you."

"I have one more. _One more_," she squinted her eyes for emphasis and leaned forward as she spoke. "One more to pay for this. She was so perfect. A perfect child. You never saw her. . . She was good. None of them were that good."

Morgan felt his leg muscles begin to twitch, the feeling coming back, and he slowly, quietly stretched and raised himself to one elbow. He knew, and he knew Reid knew, that they had to move slowly if they wanted this to end without further violence. Reid was the most patient of the team, Morgan thought. And he himself was the least patient. He was suddenly grateful that Reid had the gun and that he himself was on the ground.

"Put the gun down. Put it down, and we can talk."

Sarah straightened suddenly, her stare focusing on the young agent's face. "I don't need to talk to you. I need you to get out of my way." Morgan saw the slight motion when she raised her arm, and simultaneously heard Reid's gun go off. The woman fell to her knees without a sound, dropping her gun.

Reid watched as Sarah's hand went to her side. He flipped his phone open, "This is the FBI. We are out at the farm of Elle Greenaway. We need an ambulance and police ASAP, we have a GSW." He stepped slowly toward Sarah. She looked at him with the expression he had often seen on an unsub's face in the moments after an agent had answered the challenge and fired a shot - a look of amazement at being shot. He kicked her gun away across the floor, then knelt as she began to lie down on the concrete. She didn't resist when he opened her jacket and put his hand over the growing red stain on her t-shirt. "Shhhh...lie still now, Sarah. Help is coming."

Morgan sat up with a grunt. "Good job Kid."

"I shot her, Morgan," answered Reid irritably. Then he glanced at his friend. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Morgan picked at the wires, pulling them off his shirt. "These things are nasty. You were right, Reid. It was a woman. And a taser."

Reid's thoughts went to Elle. _She was right_. He felt a twitter in his belly as he asked, "What made you run out here?"

"Uh, Elle. She called and said you were in trouble." _I'll never doubt you again, Elle, I swear._

Reid glanced across the aisle, to where his phone rested beside a stall door. Sarah Mayford's breathing grew shallow and labored, and her eyes locked into Reid's as the sounds of a screaming siren grew nearer. "Maybe I'll see my little girl now. Today."

Reid looked into the depth of her eyes and wondered at the workings of her mind there. The reality of her world had long ago become too much. He was sad that his shot may have ended it. "No. Sarah. You're going to be okay. Hear that? They're coming. Shhhhh..." and Reid watched the life gradually drain out of her eyes.

~~/~~

Hotch watched Reid pace up and down the aisle of the barn for the eighth time. "Reid, sit down."

"No, thanks." The young agent paused to watch through a window as the medics load Sarah Mayford's body into an ambulance.

"You've been through this before. You've shot unsubs. It was a clean shoot." Hotch stepped closer to the young agent, studying his eyes. "What is eating you?"

"Oh! No, I know! It was a clean shoot. I'm fine." Reid put his hands in his pockets and looked down at his shoes. "I know I should stay for debriefing Hotch. But Elle . . . she was on the phone when this happened. I need to get to her."

"I.A. will do the usual thing, Monday. They'll want a full report directly from you and an interview with the shrink."

"Yeah, I know." Reid fidgeted with the keys in his pocket.

"Reid," said Hotch, "She confronted you in the barn with weapons. She had killed six people, including Reilly. This wasn't a case where you could talk her down," he paused, "You did fine."

Reid fixed his gaze on Hotch. "I'm fine with it. I'm really fine. I just. . ." he played with the keys in his hand, "I just need to bring Elle home."

"Okay, you're done here. Go." Hotch fought the urge to smile.

"Thanks," and Reid strode off toward the door of the barn. Then he stopped and turned around,"Hotch? Elle said something to me once." Reid walked back to stand close to his boss. "She said that she _knew_ that that unsub would have shot her. At the time I thought she was . . still trying to justify it in her mind. But now, Hotch, I know better." Reid set his jaw, looking hard into Hotch's eyes. "If Elle says that is how it happened, I believe her. I think you should too."

Hotch, taken aback by the young agent's candor, hesitated. "Reid that was five years ago. Elle left with a clean record. Why does this matter?"

"Because it matters to her, Hotch. What you think of her." Reid sniffed and looked down the aisle of the barn. "It matters to me too what you think of her."

Hotch was trying to process the meaning behind Reid's words. "And. . you think that, with all the information she had at that moment, Reid, she took a _justified_ shot."

Reid looked back at Hotch. "I do. I do, Hotch."

"Then. . I have to consider that too."

"Thanks," said Reid quietly, before turning to leave once more.

Hotch stood looking after Reid for several minutes after he saw Reid's car roll down the lane toward the highway. His thoughts went to the early days of Haley's pregnancy. They had been nervous, happy days. But he and Haley had been down the traditional road, committed, married. He worried that the road for Reid had been a rough one. He had guessed at what may have gone on with Reid and Morgan. The missing piece to the puzzle was how and why Reid got so attached to the farm here, or was that attached to Elle? Hotch hadn't been certain. But now, looking at the way the young agent's mind was focused on getting to her . . he had to wonder if things were falling together for Spencer Reid, finally.

~~/~~

Reid found himself constantly glancing down at his speedometer. He wondered how much he could get away with without risking being pulled over and delayed. He told himself that she might be ill, that the stress may have been too much. She had been on the phone with him, but had then had the presence of mind to call Morgan, and then Hotch. Surely she was simply waiting for news. He had began three times to call, and three times he had stopped himself. The last thing she had said was that she _wanted_ him. He didn't know how to pick up the conversation again without addressing that, and he didn't yet have words.

She had declared herself; Elle Greenaway, the proudest woman he had ever known, had declared that she wanted him. And she had said that she didn't want him unless . . well, he knew what she meant. She meant that it couldn't be about the baby. It had to be about them, with or without the baby. She had said that he couldn't ever put his hands on her unless he wanted her the same way. The more he thought about this, the heavier his foot seemed to become on the gas pedal. The thought that she would think that his feeling was not about passion was driving him crazy. He suddenly had to make her know it, without question.

That he had come to this still astounded him. The past two years had been like a fierce, unstoppable storm that he had lived through without being able slow it down or even to control its ferocity. Days of nervous giddiness with Aubrey had turned to days of falling into a dark hole, drugs. And then Ethan. Trying to pretend that for a time at least he could be satisfied; it had felt so good to be loved that he hadn't wanted to reason with himself or with Ethan. And then the pain of finding out about Morgan and Ethan. The confusion of not being able to understand himself - whether he wanted Ethan back or just wanted Morgan on his knees.

But in all the turmoil, there had been a light: he had stumbled into Elle's life again. The time spent with her had been the warmest he had known since Aubrey. And now a realization made him grip the steering wheel harder and he felt his eyes burn: that he loved Elle, and he loved her with something deep and desperate and at times frightening, but it moved him in ways that no other love had - not even Aubrey. _Not even Aubrey._ It occurred to Reid now that he had spent so much time and emotional energy in worrying over Ethan and Morgan, and in resisting the idea that he had fathered a potential life that would confront the same fears that he did in his own life, that he hadn't realized that he was falling in love. She was right in front of him, all that time. Difficult, unnerving, challenging, sexy, beautiful Elle. And she wanted _him_.

He laughed to himself, alone in the darkness of the car, imagining that seven years ago a person might have said to Elle Greenaway, "Look at that awkward, bumbling kid over there, with his glasses and his too-short pants and his inability to articulate a coherent thought that isn't scientifically-based. Someday, he will father your child, and you will be desperate for him." _Wasn't "hurt for you" the phrase she had used?_ She would have laughed such a person out of the building. In fact, Reid thought, it would have pissed her off to hear it.

And if the same person had said to him, "See that woman? The one with heat dripping off her lips and her hips and her eyes? The one that confuses you because you don't know what she thinks of you or about anything else? The one whom you can never profile or understand? The one you have had a few interesting dreams about in the dark of the night alone in your bed, after she taught you to salsa? Well, Dr. Reid, one day she will seduce you. She will say she wants you. She will say that, and she will have your child inside her when she says it." He would never have believed it to be possible. He would have been so terrified he would have run. He would have spent the ensuing years being terrified, even after she left, of the day they would meet again. He would have been certain that he would never be the object of her desire and if by some off chance she decided to seduce him he would have thought he would surely ruin it somehow.

But now, here he was. Here they were. They had grown slowly together, over the months, and even though they hadn't touched since that night they had surely each thought of the other one many times and wondered if the thoughts of yearning were in common or in vain. He imagined that his hands were aching now, as he drove, wanting to be on her body. He imagined the warm brown of her skin, the curve of her hips and her breasts. "Dammit," he said, and eased his foot on the gas pedal again. Fifteen more minutes, and he would never let her doubt him again . . .

~~/~~

Morgan watched Reid drive down the lane. The kid hadn't said a word; he and Morgan hadn't even talked about what happened yet. In the confusion of the emergency personnel's arriving, and then the rest of the team, Morgan hadn't taken Reid aside to say . . . say what? Maybe just that they had gotten each other through a bad moment. Like old times. That they were still good together. Still brothers.

He saw Hotch coming out of the barn. "Hey," Morgan nodded to the car pulling onto the highway, "He okay?"

"He's good. He's going to Elle."

"Oh. Yeah." Morgan smiled to himself, feeling good for Reid, that he and Elle seemed to have found something together. Then as he thought about it, he sighed. Reid had left Ethan behind successfully, and now Morgan could see that he was healing. And Elle had become important to him. It was all good. But when Ethan had left Reid and left everything behind, he had also left Morgan and any potential there might have been for something between them. Morgan suddenly felt alone. He didn't want to do the usual showing up at the frequent parties his friends threw, picking out when he walked in the door the lady he would leave with. He was tired to death of nightclubs. He didn't want to meet anyone there. He didn't want a woman period, and he could finally admit that to himself now; and that left him lost and terrified for his future. He envied Reid his answers, his apparent certainty. He wondered if he himself would ever again feel certain about anything in his private life.

Morgan sighed again wearily - less from fatigue than frustration - and rubbed his hands over his head, then walked toward the barn to see what he needed to do to finish up with the crime scene. Because right then, he wanted nothing more than to go back home and hide with his thoughts for a weekend.

~~/~~

When Elle heard the key in the door, she threw the magazine on the floor and ran. She had the door open before he had finished turning the key in the lock. She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled his face to hers, covering his lips with her mouth. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I was so mean to you. I don't care if you don't, if you can't feel..." she kissed him again.

"Elle, Elle," he laughed as he backed her into the apartment and shoved the door closed. "Shhhh. Listen," he tried to extricate his neck from her grasp, his mouth from hers, "I need you to do something for me."

She stopped, curious. "What?"

He held his mouth over hers, almost touching but not quite, feeling the inhale and exhale of her breath sweet on his face, and whispered, "Put on some of your music. Some latin music. Now."

"What? Reid! What?" she laughed and began to pull away. He stopped her, his hand on the small of her back, as he pressed her to the front of him. His mouth still hovered over hers. He was enjoying it, her surprise, her reticence, her smile, anticipation. "You heard me. Do it now." He moved his mouth over hers, slightly brushing her lips. "I have to dance with you. I have to. Hurry."

Elle backed away from him, eyes open wide, a smile playing at one side of her mouth. "Spencer Reid," she said, and pointedly looked at his crotch, cocking her head, "Don't be bossy."

"NOW!" he said, so sharply it made her jump and laugh. She ran barefoot into the living room and fumbled with her CD's where they were stacked beside his stereo. She dropped a few onto the floor in her nervousness. He smiled and followed her, dropping his jacket onto a chair, kicking off his shoes.

As she placed a CD into the stereo and pressed the play button she felt him behind her. He slid his hands slowly over her hips where her pajamas hung there, sliding a finger under the waistband. She felt his breath on her neck and his lips as he kissed it. Then his breath on her ear, "You said I wasn't to put my hands on you unless I wanted you the same way. . . Elle," and he ran his tongue down her earlobe, making her gasp and lean back into him, "I think I have my hands on you. Dance with me. Dance with me."

~~/~~


	26. Chapter 26

_Chapter Twenty-Six_

Reid looked down at Elle as she lay stretched on the bed. Her hands were still wrapped around the rails of the headboard, after she had used it to brace herself during his thrusting. Her legs rested on either side of his hips, and he sat back on his haunches, catching his breath and stroking her thighs, leaving his cock inside her. She was still breathing hard too, and she looked at him with love-drugged, sleepy eyes, her chest rising and falling slower now, not speaking.

He liked that she looked into his eyes and held them, that she forced him to meet her gaze and dared him to stay with it. He liked that she forced him to be strong - as strong as she was. Elle was good for him. He thought this as he looked down at her, feeling his cock still twitching inside her where it was so warm, where he felt he belonged. After a bit, he let his eyes fall from hers and travel down over her beautiful face, her throat, her breasts, onto her belly. Now that she lay on her back, a slight swelling in her abdomen was undeniable. He smiled with one side of his mouth, staring at it. This caused her to laugh, deep in her throat, "Yes, I'm showing. Proud of yourself?"

He smiled wide. "Yes. Yes, I think I am." He reached and placed a warm hand flat on her belly. "Wow."

She smiled. He sighed. "Do we, uh, know what it is?"

"Not for a few months. Why? What do you want?"

"Well," and Elle could see his mind chewing on the question, "if it's a girl, I'll spoil her too badly. I think I need a boy first. To warm up on." He frowned and added, stroking her stomach, "But girls are less likely to develop schizophrenia."

"REID," moaned Elle, rolling her eyes.

"Sorry," he smirked. He pulled out of her slowly, and got up and padded toward the bathroom. She watched him walk across the room, her eyes taking in the lines of his back, the sharp angle of his should blades, the curve of his butt. She shivered slightly and laid her own hand over her belly where his had been. The next six months would pass so quickly now; she felt a bit like she was on a train that she couldn't get off of, heading for a destination she was a little fearful of.

Reid crossed back across the room and set a glass of water on the table beside her. He sat down on the bed, and slowly wiped her inner thighs with a warm washcloth. He gently coaxed her to part her legs further so that he could apply the cloth to her vulva. She felt uncomfortably exposed, but she trusted him and allowed it. The warmth felt soothing. She closed her eyes and breathed out a sigh. She wasn't used to being taken care of, and she'd have to adjust to it; Reid didn't seem to be going anywhere.

He climbed into the bed beside her and wrapped her into his arms. His lips brushed her shoulder. The feeling of his exhaling across her chest was comforting. She felt her nipples harden under the breeze of it. She felt his hand around her breast and his fingers on her nipple. "I love your breasts. You have the most beautiful breasts I've ever seen."

"Hmm. How many have you seen, Reid?"

"Hey! A few..."

She wondered if he had said similar words to the girl that had died. . to Aubrey. She turned from him onto her side. "You're full of shit."

"Ouch!" He pouted and cuddled her against him. "You're so mean sometimes."

"No, I'm not. I just don't like to be lied to. I don't find pretty lies romantic, Reid." _Maybe Aubrey did, but I don't. Try again, Little Boy._ Elle didn't know why she was cranky. Now that she had allowed him to take her to bed a second time, she was a bit disappointed in herself.

"What am I going to do with you?" he sighed, hoping she'd laugh. She didn't. He buried his face in her neck and inhaled. "You smell good."

Reid thought about how frantic he had been to get to her, back to the apartment where he knew she'd be waiting, worried. He knew she cared for him, she had confessed it. But every time he drew her close she did the Elle thing - she put on the fiery mask and repelled him again. _What do you need? I would give you anything you wanted..._ He felt his heart pound, thinking about her, how difficult and exasperating and bewitching she was. He felt intoxicated by these thoughts of her, and it gave him courage.

"Do you know what, Elle?" he whispered into the back of her hair.

"Hmmm."

"You can be just as bitchy and difficult as you want, I'm not leaving you. And I think that like. . . you know, sixty years from now, we'll be lying in bed just like this after sex. And you'll look at me and say, _Spencer,_ - because you will have learned my first name by then - _Spencer . . . my love, you've been so good to me, you've been good to our children. You've been. . .faithful to me, you've taken care of me, even when I was a bitch about being taken care of,_. . . " Elle turned over toward him, starting to protest.

"SHHH." He put fingers to her lips. They still smelled of her sex, something she liked because it made him hers. At least for a time. Marked by her scent. "_. . . and even when I was mad at you, you. ._ " and suddenly Elle saw moisture cloud his deep hazel eyes and he looked down away from her gaze, "_you LOVED me. Spencer, I always knew you loved me. Every fucking day._" Elle let the enormity of his words sink in and felt her heartbeat speed up. He blinked and she watched a tear fall onto his nose. He wiped it off, and looked back into her eyes, serious, defiant. "I love you," he whispered. "I love you. I want to be with you. Don't ever leave me. . .please?" _You didn't mention the baby. Just me. Sixty years? Sixty years . . he will be with me._

Elle pushed his hair out of his eyes. Her fingers traced his cheekbone. His face was so dear to her now. She couldn't imagine adoring the lines of another man's face like she did the lines of his. "Reid," she said. "In sixty years we will not be having sex, we'll be lucky if we remember our own names."

"God," he grimaced. "Don't say that." She laughed.

He looked at her, into her eyes, thinking. She stroked his jaw with her finger. "I'll still love you," he said. "Pretty words. Pretty words. Elle, I don't know how to lie. You know that. I'm not wired that way. I love you. I love your breasts. God, I love your . . . ass."

"Reid!" Her attempt to stifle a giggle failed and she laughed loudly. He smiled, watching her, enjoying her. When she had caught her breath again and settled, he touched her hair and wound it around his fingers. He looked at her mouth, loving its shape. She watched his gaze rest on her lips and felt a twinge between her legs. Her breath quickened and he heard it.

"You're beautiful," he said, his eyes wandering over her shoulders. For the first time, she was beginning to believe his words, beginning to let go of self-protection. He was thinking that he didn't think about Aubrey anymore. He only saw Elle, only craved Elle. He knew he wanted all of it. A life with Elle.

Reid's hand wandered over her breasts and belly again. She felt his fingers lightly touching her thighs and between her legs, asking, coaxing. She parted her legs and laid her leg over his, opening to him, and felt his long, elegant fingers probing her, opening her, deeper. She ached. His thumb pressed her clit insistently and she ached more. He slid a finger into her slowly and she caught her breath. Her mind was being pulled into the sensation, slipping into her with his finger, floating. When she heard his voice she felt his breath hot on her cheek, "Say it."

_Say what?_ She didn't care, she couldn't speak. She just wanted to feel his fingers, for him to keep touching her, keep breathing into her ear. "Say it!" he growled, his tone demanding. She opened her eyes. She gasped as he fingered her clit, faster. "Say you love me. Give it up! Give it to me!"

Even then, when she was near the edge that he could so easily push her over, the old familiar stubbornness welled up in her. But this time she recognized it for what it was, a protective response that had nothing to do with this man. He pulled his hand from her clit and fingered her vagina again, she retreating from the edge. She squirmed and moved her hips, her movements begging him to finish what he started. She grasped his wrist. "Reid . . ." she breathed.

He kissed her ear, her cheek. When his fingers returned to her clit she jumped and moaned, and the thought flashed into her mind that as he took her over the edge she could jump this time into trusting him. Like a landmark. A moment. When she could take a risk, let it all change. Invite the unthinkable - that this man loved her and would not hurt her. "Say it," came his hot breath again, and the low male timbre of it send her flying. He felt her body spasm and listened to her hold her breath, feeling the sensations of her orgasm. He licked a line down her neck, reinforcing the moment. He kissed her collarbone. Her breathing slowing, she reached for his cock.

"Spencer," she whispered, and at the sound of his name he looked at her eyes. They were searching, something open and vulnerable in them that he had never seen in all the years he had known her. He shivered as he realized it was for him. "I love you." _There, you said it. You said it. _

~~/~~

Morgan stepped out of the elevator and walked wearily down the hallway toward his apartment door. It had been a long day. But now the case was over, the killings would end. He would spend some of the remaining hours of the day on a report while the incident at the barn was fresh in his mind. He hoped Reid would do the same. If they waited until Monday, details would be lost. _Reid._ Morgan sighed and smiled as he placed the key into the lock. The kid would be with his lady by now.

A movement in the hallway caught the corner of his eye, and he turned to look. A long, tall man leaned against the wall, watching Morgan. "Ethan!" Morgan's eyes swept over the figure, not believing. "Ethan..." He felt a rush of heat behind his ears. He looked down and clumsily fumbled with the key.

A strong hand closed over his, steadying it, gently taking the key from his hand. Morgan felt the heat rising off Ethan's body, smelled the familiar scent of his cologne. His heart pounded so hard he was surprised they couldn't hear it. Ethan slid the key into the lock again and turned it, pushing the door open.

Their eyes met. Morgan's questioning, nervous. Ethan's warm, calm. Ethan smiled the cocky half-smile Morgan remembered and had seen a million times in his mind since their last meeting. Morgan broke the gaze and gestured to Ethan to enter.

Inside, Morgan tossed the keys onto a side table. He turned to Ethan, "What are you doing here? I don't get it. I . . I thought. . ." He watched Ethan close the door and turn the lock. Ethan stepped close to Morgan and placed a hand on his cheek. "Spencer. He called me. He said. . .he said I need to come back. To come back to you."

Morgan's mind raced. _Reid_ had done this? He felt a lump rise in his throat. After all the misery Morgan had caused his young friend, after Reid's ranting and pouting and hurting over the loss of the relationship with Ethan, and after he had blamed Morgan. And yes, Morgan knew he had been partly at fault for the breakup. There were problems between Ethan and Reid and he, Morgan, had encouraged and taken advantage of those problems. And now. . ._ forgiveness, unexpected_. Morgan looked into Ethan's eyes and his own filled with tears. "He sent you to _me_? He gave you to me?" he heard his own voice breaking. He felt himself flush for the second time in minutes, thinking that after all the years, he had still had no idea of the measure of the man inside Spencer Reid.

Ethan's thumb moved to wipe Morgan's tears and his lips caressed Morgan's cheek. "I know. I know. He gave you to me too." Ethan's mouth pressed against Morgan's. "God, how I missed you," he breathed.

~~/~~

_**One year later.**_

Reid sat on the steps of the porch and watched the sun bump the horizon. The mist hung low over the pastures, and he inhaled deeply the rich, dark smell of damp, fertile earth laced with manure. He listened to the mourning doves coo, and the cicadas buzzing. The kind of lazy summer evening he had come to love on the farm. He watched as his daughter crawled to the edge of the porch and he steadied her with his hand. She looked up into his face, unsteady baby head bobbing, and smiled a gurgle. "Where are you going Sweetheart?" he said gently. He placed his hands around her and lifted her up against his chest.

The porch door squeaked open and closed, and Elle stepped down, lowering herself onto the step beside him. She put out her hand and stroked the baby's back. Reid smiled, liking how practiced the gesture seemed now, after only six months of motherhood. He watched her face as she looked out over the field, watching the horses graze. She felt him watching and looked at his eyes, a slow smile on her lips.

"Are you happy?" he asked.

"I better be," she said, trying not to smile, "after three days from now, I'm stuck with you."

As it had so often in recent months, it struck Reid again how odd and random life was. He had known Elle those years ago, as a workmate, and they had been friends. She had disappeared from his life. Then came his kidnapping and torture, the drugs, Aubrey, the drugs again. Ethan. All the turmoil, the unexpected turns and twists and lunges over cliffs that the course of his life had taken. But now . . Elle had come back. Like a gift. The essence of Elle had enticed him, then enveloped him, and with it she had conceived a child with him, _for him_, another gift, a sign of hope and the future. Elle was his magical angel. And she had come back, and she was going to stay. The gratitude swelling in his chest almost hurt.

Reid kissed the top of his daughter's head, and watched Elle stroke the tiny back, looking at her hand and the ring he'd given her. He shifted the baby in his arms and handed her to Elle. Then he wrapped his arms around Elle, cuddling them both into himself, laying his head on her shoulder. "Sixty years," he whispered. "I can't wait to begin it."

The End

~~/~~


End file.
